Psalm of the Lark
by Jessica-X
Summary: Fear and loathing in Gotham City. This is a chronicle of Harley Quinn's new outlook on life... through the unlikely vessel of Batgirl. As told by Barbara Gordon and Harley. T:Mature themes. F/. :COMPLETE:
1. Mourning In The Morning

QUICK PRE-FICTION NOTES & WARNINGS:

ATTENTION: LOCATIONS AND PERSONS © DC/WARNER.  
BIOHAZARD: KEEP OUT OF REACH OF CHILDREN.  
TV-14: VSLD  
CAUTION: MAY CONTAIN F/.

Welcome to my Batman-universe masterwork. Or, well, I tend to think of each fiction I write as a masterwork. That's not saying it's the greatest thing since buttered toast - only that it's one of the best things I'VE ever done, which is saying very little. As with 84 per cent of my work (NOT an accurate cross-section), it is in first-person perspective. Though I successfully shyed away from it with my Sabrina opus, Larkie-pie here features the infamous POV-SWITCHING, which is a catchy term for "I couldn't decide who ought to narrate the whole story, so I compromised." Unlike my X-Men:Evolution fic, however, in this one I've limited it to the two characters. I've tried to use a system of wider dividers to notate when the P.O.V. switches between BG and HQ... hopefully you'll pick it up fairly easily. If not... I apologise?

And that's enough from my yap. Sally forth into fields of barley!

* * *

**- PSALM OF THE LARK -**  
by Jessica X

Session One: Mourning In The Morning

There wasn't much else to do. In a shocked stupor, I stared at the scrap of cloth between my gloved fingers, almost uncomprehending. My teeth were still rattling with the screams careening between the concrete and rebar I was clinging to. I tried to convince myself it was the steady sting of raindrops causing my eyes to squeeze shut as it all sunk in... but the real reason was reason enough.

Harley Quinn was gone.

It seemed incongruent that I'd be on the verge of tears over a lunatic like Harley: a lunatic that now knew I was really just Barbara Gordon under the mask and cape, and could expose me whenever she pleased; a lunatic that had nearly removed me from existence more times than I cared to count. Damn her and her cheaply-made costume! But her eyes... those scared blue eyes peering out from under that floppy black-and-red cowl, down into the abyss, around, up at her would-be saviour, imploring me to hold back the Reaper by pulling her to safety. Eyes stretched wide in consternation and the onset of anguish that locked with my own for an eternal moment, both of us understanding what was coming next. The girl had almost a nanosecond to mourn her own death before...

As I pulled myself onto the ledge, I couldn't help thinking it was my fault. So what if Harley had leveled a bazooka at me seconds before we'd fallen into the pit? So what if my fist had connected with the demented queen of the jesters' face dozens of times before that? Regardless of sanity or moral fibre, a human being had just met her doom several decades ahead of schedule... because I couldn't stop it. That I hadn't actually heard the impact was one of the few comforting details.

I sullenly moved up onto the next ledge, and the next, mulling the details over in my mind. There had to have been some way to save her - if only I'd seen it! One hand on the ledge, the other grasping Harley's frilly wrist-cuff... I tried to pull Harley's hand to the same ledge, but the cuff tore, and...

Sheer determination was all that kept my mind from going past that dark point again. Okay, so what about a Bat-Rope? Was there even time to launch one? Probably not; even if I'd thought of it instantly, I'd still have to retrieve it from my utility belt, aim, and fire. Diving after her and firing two in either direction would most likely have resulted in both of us going splat - a puddle of multicoloured goo with a pair of useless ropes attached. And could I have actually caught her with my legs while struggling with the ropes?

"Legs..." As the tedious climb was over and I was standing weakly on the main floor of the old, abandoned Arkham Asylum building, the futile answer dawned on me; instead of trying to get Harley directly to safety, I should've offered the support of my own damn legs. They were solid enough for Harley to hang onto, to give both of us a moment to regroup before trying to achieve the ledge, right?

But it didn't matter. She was dead now. No other words could come, so I repeated myself over and over as my boot soles slogged through collecting pools of rainwater, like a needle trying to escape the deep, disfiguring gash ruining an otherwise steady groove on vinyl.

"Damn me... damn, damn, damn..."

. . ᴥ . .

The maniacal laughter that reached my ears as I neared the doors marked "Operating Theatre" was so strained, so forced... it had to be Tim. The Joker's laugh was more sinister and less false because he honestly enjoyed his misdeeds, but his "influence" on Tim had taken its toll; the poor kid now looked and acted more like a miniature, mentally-challenged version of Joker than the Robin I knew.

As I burst into the room, I wasn't sure of what my eyes were seeing. The Joker was slumped face-down on the floor, a crimson puddle forming underneath him. Bruce's lip was bleeding and he was on his knees, looking like an empty husk of the crimefighter he normally was as he struggled to rise. And off to one side stood what was left of Tim, holding a smoking gun and sounding to me like he'd been tickled for two hours too long.

I turned out to be right; seconds after my entrance, the gun fell from his limp hands and he sunk to the floor, the laughter beginning to sound more like sobs. Quick as I could, I ran over to my young partner, kneeled next to him, huddled his pale form for a moment and wiped away his tears.

"It's okay, Tim... it's okay."

But no, it wasn't. Somehow, even as Batman moved toward us and I whispered that everything would be all right now, I knew it was an empty promise.

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

My pinky hurts.

It was the first thought that stood up and said "Hello" when my mind regained consciousness. Except it wasn't just my pinky - ribs, back, face, tailbone, skull, knees... all of it hurt, and bad. If I had any energy, I'd have started screaming in agony... but just trying to force air to vibrate vocal cords was painful. Maybe after I regained some energy, I'd call for help.

'At least I know I'm not dead,' I thought bleakly. 'But I think I'd rather be.'

How awful! How terrible! Me and my Puddin' were on the cusp of my lifelong dream; we were going to be a family! That cruel bastard Batman and his little sister - or little mistress? - were ruining everything. Why couldn't they just realise that there was no more Tim Drake... that there was only J.J.? If I survived, I only hoped they hadn't foiled our plans once again.

Slowly, the last few moments of consciousness returned. The bazooka misfiring, the ground crumbling, the fall...

'Wait a minute...'

Batgirl - Commissioner Gordon's kid, as I now knew - tried to help, grabbed my hand. We'd both gone down, fallen a ways... Babs caught a lip of concrete, tried to lift me up... but my beautiful cuff couldn't take the strain of my weight (not that I'm fat or anything!). Then...

Agonisingly, I reached up toward the crown of my head and found only damp hair... which I hoped was only water. On the way down, my cowl must've caught on some rebar or something, ripped it clean off. It had been a painfully sudden stop, but that momentary delay in my descent was probably all that saved my life.

...well, and Batgirl.

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Rest in peace."

I could tell he didn't mean it. He wanted to say, "Burn in Hell for all eternity, you sadistic bastard," but he couldn't bring himself to. The man was dead, and there was no point in ranting about his past deeds, now; Bruce accepted that. That's just how he is. Still, neither of us felt a great deal of remorse - The Joker's death was meted out by his own handiwork. Oddly fitting.

As we left the mound of earth shielding the madman's corpse from the world and made to exit the basement, Robin looked up. The wild, demented look in his eyes was still there, and he was still trying his best not to grin like a rabid dog, but something caught his attention.

"What is it, Tim?" Batman asked quietly - I noticed he was already calling him "Tim" instead of "Robin"; he'd already made up his mind. The poor child started laughing quietly, unable to keep from doing it for too long, as he pointed down a hallway. When I listened hard, I heard it, too.

"Someone's down here," I whispered.

"Yes," Batman said after a moment. "There it is. But who on Earth would be lurking around this shambles...?"

"They're in trouble," I said as I started down the hallway.

"Wait," he said, placing a hand on my arm.

"It's okay, I got it." I nodded toward Tim. "Stay with him. I'll be right back." He hesitated for a moment, then sighed, placing a hand on the boy's now-emerald-green hair.

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

"H... help!"

The pain worsened with every passing second, and I began to lose feeling in my legs; it was probably a good thing. I took in another breath to call out, but it hurt so badly that I coughed instead, which hurt even more. Was there even anybody out there? Nobody but Puddin' and Team Bat could hear me, that was for sure. At that point, I didn't much care who got the message.

"Somebody..."

When you're immobilised amongst the rubble of a condemned building, your mind starts to wander. The longer I lie there, bleeding into the water, the more the inevitable conclusion to all this closed in on my mind.

I was going to die. Sooner or later, my internal injuries and blood loss would catch up to me, and I would kick the bucket, shuffle loose the mortal coil forever and join the circus in the sky. Could this really be the end? Stranded in the basement of an abandoned asylum, dying alone with only a third of my life under my belt? That's kind of... lame. Talk about anticlimactic.

The world would keep going without me, duh, but what would Mr J do without me? Would he find a replacement for his Harley, or become the one-man big top he'd always been before I careened into his life? Somehow, the latter seemed more likely - he didn't _need _me, not really. He was plenty enough villain all on his own.

And then there was Batgirl. That dear, sweet thing had almost bought the farm trying to save me - moments after I tried to blow her away! Why did she do it? As much as I'd always seen her as Batman's right-hand pest, I was forced to admit that there might be more to her than a blinding sense of justice.

Her eyes... I was scared witless at the idea of falling into a bottomless pit like that, and the entire situation faded into a single thought: "Please don't drop me." And there, in her eyes, I saw it; she didn't want to. Maybe she just didn't want the blood on her conscience, or maybe she wanted to leave me for the boys in blue to cart off, like any decent superheroine, but either way... she actually gave a rat's ass if one of her sworn enemies became a greasy splotch.

"Help..."

As my head swam again, dipping back into the water, a weird little notion came to me that I wasn't sure I liked. If she hadn't slowed my freefall down a smidge, I would probably be dead already instead of bleeding to death slowly. No matter how many lethal pies-in-the-face and whoopee cushions that came her way courtesy of yours truly, Batgirl still did her best to save my sorry keister.

'Oy... I think I owe somebody...'

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

Following the sound seemed to get harder as I got closer; the voice was fading, growing weaker... or more hopeless. I fought back the impulse to call out; my solo training and Bruce's additional tutelage had ingrained in me that this was one of the most obvious ploys to lure one's enemies into a trap, so I had to be careful. Finally, the voice - female, I realised - gave a sudden moan, leading me to a door with a steel beam in front of it. I strained at it for a while, but it seemed to like its position. Sure, I had the moves, but sheer muscle mass was needed.

"Batman," I whispered into my radio.

"Copy."

"There's a girder blocking my way... I can't budge it. Help me out?"

"On my way."

A few minutes later, we had it on the floor, and the moan was instantly louder, starting to sound like words. As I opened the door, I heard a "Who... who's there?"

My eyes met rubble sticking out of the water; there was a huge gaping hole in the ceiling and the floors above, and rain was starting to flood the partly-demolished room. After staring around in confusion for a moment, a patch of yellow among the muddy brown water caught my eye, and I rushed toward it.

The hair, perhaps shoulder-length, was wet and limp, mostly in the water. In fact, most of her was in the water; without a body shape, I could only guess she was between twenty and thirty. It also didn't help that the woman had a black eye, a bloody lip and a small cut on her cheek, which had already started to coagulate. Upon closer inspection, I noticed patches of red in her blonde hair. She was a mess.

"Oh, God..." I knelt next to her and elevated her head gently. "Are you okay, Miss?"

As her eyes fluttered open, she mumbled, "'Course not, ya crazy... do I look okay?"

"What happened?"

Then her eyes focused on my face, and she smiled weakly. "Hey there, Babs. Miss me?"

"H-Harley?!" That hit my brain like a ton of bricks... and, inexplicably, I felt my heart leap. "I- I can't believe it! You're alive! Oh, thank God!!"

"_OOH!!_"

"Sorry," I whispered, releasing my deathgrip on her shoulders and letting her settle against the underwater debris again. "Guess you feel as bad as you look."

Her grin was so fragile-looking, but genuine. "Yeah, I'm pretty banged up... but I'm still tickin', thanks to you!"

"Wh... what?"

"You saved my life," she said, uttering words more sober than I'd ever heard from her mouth. "I... I was tryin' to kill you, and y-you saved my life."

"No, I didn't... I let you down." I turned away slightly. "I didn't think fast enough to stop you from falling to your would-be death. You must've saved yourself somehow."

When I looked back, her eyes were still boring into me, shining with gratitude. "Okay, so my hoodie caught on something up there, but if you hadn't grabbed me... I'd have been fallin' too fast for it to matter. Face it; I owe you one, kiddo."

Before I could reply, I noticed two figures standing to the side. Bruce's face was his usual mask of indecipherable stone, and Tim's fake smile was frowning as much as it could.

"Oh, the other Winged Crusaders." Harley moved her head slightly to get a better look at them, and she noticed Tim's slight scowl. "He doesn't look too happy."

No shit, I seriously thought for a moment that Batman would haul off and kick her in the nose, but he restrained himself. Tim just laughed. Ice flooded through my veins as her role in the boy's current state of derangement came back to me.

"Will he ever be normal again?" I asked her, an edge in my voice.

"He looks fine to me."

This time, I grabbed her by the collar. "Answer me, Harley!"

"Okay, okay!" she blubbered, eyes squeezing shut against the searing pain that was no doubt biting through her from my sudden action. "I... I'm sorry, Babs, I didn't mean anything by it..."

"Stop calling me 'Babs'!"

"I'm sorry!" I couldn't believe it - tears were streaming down her cheeks. At the time, I convinced myself it was rainwater, but that was for my own peace of mind; obviously she was distraught by my behaviour, and she felt like she couldn't stop messing up. "Really, I am, I didn't want Puddin' to do it! I... I didn't want it like this! All that 'steal little Timmy and turn him into our son' mishagosh was Mister J's idea, I... I only wanted a couple kids, a real family, I swear! I'm sorry, Bab- Batgirl."

God knows why, but I believed her; maybe Harley would kidnap a kid to keep for her very own, but she didn't have nearly the criminal genius to rearrange their mind like that. "Can we turn him back or not?"

"I... I dunno," she whimpered. "I know where the serum is, and I'll get it for you, but... but the shocks and the mindgames and stuff... that's not such an easy fix, y'know?"

"Where is the antitoxin?" Bruce's level voice broke in.

"There isn't any. Who needs it?" When he only glared in response, she cringed. "But the toxin... it's upstairs, in the kitchen. Behind the mayonnaise." Suddenly she convulsed, coughing and clinging to my arms. When the fit subsided, she went on. "I'll help you cook up a cure. I'm not as dumb as I look, y'know."

"That won't be necessary." Those words were meant to make it clear that he didn't trust her near his laboratory, but she didn't seem to pick up on that.

"But I have to! It's the only thing I can do to make it right, it-" She shuddered violently, then fell back, clutching her sides and moaning. "Oh God, I'm gonna die... I- I'm really gonna die..."

"We need to get her to Gotham General," I said. "Broken ribs, some kind of head wound... probably a lot of organ damage... maybe a concussion."

"Fine," he replied gruffly. "I'll retrieve the serum. You take Tim and... _THAT _to the Batmobile." Then he fired a Batrope through the makeshift skylights and was pulled out of view.

"I deserved that," Harley whispered.

"Huh?"

"Brucey doesn't even think of me as a person," she went on. "Guess I ain't."

That wasn't fair, but a quick glance at Tim kept me from arguing the point. "Can you stand?"

"What, are you cracked?" She glanced up at me, then frowned meekly. "Sorry... didn't mean to snap. No, walking's a bad idea. Really, I think I'd fall apart if I tried."

"Here," I said resignedly, slipping my arms under her body; sure enough, I could feel her bones shifting unnaturally as I carried her toward the door, and my stomach lurched. One of her legs looked more like a Krazy Straw than a limb. I guess Harley caught the horrified look on my face, as she smiled through the pain.

"Don't worry about me."

"Who's worried?" I replied indignantly.

"You are," she whispered, slipping an arm around my neck to steady herself. "Can't help it, 'cause you're one of the good guys. I know, I'm barely better off than a fly on the other side of a meat grinder, but I'll be okay. Besides, who cares if one more crook in Gotham City kicks the bucket?"

Maybe if I hadn't been so pissed off I would've tried to convince her otherwise, but at the moment I just wanted to get her out of my sight and help the young man following us. As I reached the stairs, her head lowered to my shoulder; it was oddly comforting and disquieting at the same time.

"I was serious."

"What?"

"When I said I owe you one." I could feel her lungs expanding with the extra volume of a deep sigh. "I swear, I'll help you guys bring Timmy back, no matter what it takes."

"Thanks, but no thanks."

"You forget," she said wickedly. "I know where you hang your cowl. I can drop by and offer advice any old time."

"Not from New Arkham, you can't."

Her head shot up in alarm. "No... c'mon, please, don't throw me in the funhouse, not again!"

"It's the law. You're a nutcase, and that's where nutcases go. And if you weren't, you'd be headed for the state pen."

She bit her lip for a moment, then lowered her head again. "Yeah... I guess you're right. I've done the crime, and now I have to do-"

"What is it with you villains and clichéd phrases?"

The expression changed into a smile. "What, and you guys don't say stuff like 'The jig is up, Penguin' every friggin' time?"

"Point taken." I tried as hard as I could not to smile back, but she made it impossible. "You know, Harley, if you weren't a twisted psychopath that just ruined Robin's life, I might like you."

She blinked. "What? Really?"

"Don't take it to heart," I said smugly. "I _don't _like you."

"Batgirl..." She looked hard at me. Inner conflict was probably an understatement for what was going on behind her clear, blue irises. "I have a lotta junk to answer for... all those attempted murders, blowin' up stuff, the thing with Robin... it's not gonna do much good to keep apologising, but it's all I got. I'm lousy with sorry."

"Yeah, I know, I know."

When the quietly-giggling Tim was buckled in the backseat, I eased her next to him and strapped her in, trying to ignore the sickening squish and her moans of pure agony. As an afterthought, I took out the black first-aid kit, bandaged her head wound and a gash on her arm, and gave her a mild painkiller and a canteen to wash it down.

"Why are you going to all this trouble?" she asked meekly while I was still tending the wounds. "Why waste all that gauze on some evil tramp?"

"What else am I supposed to do?"

"Leave me here to rot," she said after swallowing the pills, clutching the canteen. "I wouldn't blame you one bit."

"Can't have you wandering free," I replied as I leapt into the passenger seat. "You'll just start wreaking terror - maybe team up with Poison Ivy again."

"Oh no, I won't," she said earnestly. "Especially not with _that _chlorophyllous cuntrag." She hesitated, as if she wasn't sure she could believe her own words, then took a steadying breath. "If I survive, if I ever get back on the streets, I swear I'll go straight. No more of this lunatic rampage business for Harley Quinn, no sir!"

"I'm not a 'sir'," I mumbled before grabbing the Batmobile's CB mic. "Bat One?"

"Copy."

"You find it?"

"Affirmative... right where she said it was. Is she with you?"

"Hey, Bats," Harley piped up weakly. "Nice set o' wheels you got here. How many miles to the gallon?"

"I don't suppose The Joker kept the formula for this anywhere nearby?"

"Uh-huh. There's a safe behind that painting of the Mona Jester; you're lookin' for a manila folder. Uh... just ignore all the golden joy buzzers and 'Crocheting Monthly' magazines."

"Right. Bat Two, you go ahead and take our... guest to Gotham General. Make sure they keep her under _close _observation. I'll catch up with you and Tim in the Batcave."

"Got it." As I stashed the mic and moved into the driver's seat, I called over my shoulder, "'Crocheting Monthly'?"

"I was gonna be a mommy, wasn't I?" she said with a bitter laugh. "Guess I can throw those out."

"You were really set on that, weren't you?"

"It's all I ever wanted - a hubby, rugrats, white pickety fence... maybe a nosy next-door neighbour to gossip with. Too bad the daddy had to be a supervillain; always the unconventional way with them, ain't it?" She paused to cough into her fist, staring out the window as I started the car and guided it away from the crumbling building. "Mister J's not gonna be happy when he finds out Junior's back at Wayne Manor... but I guess it wasn't meant to be."

"Oh..."

"Hmm?"

Shit. Suddenly, I had to break the news to her. How do you tell an unstable schizoid something like this? Maybe I should wait for Bruce to-

"Whassamatter, Red? Bat got yer tongue?"

"Harley... I'm sorry."

"You're... sorry?" I could almost feel her lean forward suddenly, then wince and sit back again. "Wh- what are you sorry about?"

"The Joker... Jack..." In the rearview cameras' displays, I could see her look up at me in dismay at the use of his given name - she already knew what I was going to say, but was still hoping against hope that it would be something different. "He commanded Tim to... to shoot Bruce with that 'BANG!' flag gun of his. But Tim fought against his- his programming, or hypnosis or whatever, and... turned the gun at the last second."

I heard the canteen hitting the floor, spilling water all over her and Tim's feet. "Oh no... no, _no, NO!"_

"The flag went straight through his heart... he didn't have a prayer."

"Puddin'..." Her lip was quivering, and something between a sob and a chuckle floated out. "Well... at least he went out with... with a..."

She broke down before she could even deliver that one last punchline in his memory. Villain or no, it's only right to give someone time to grieve, so I drove on in silence for several long minutes, her crying mixing with Tim's quiet laughter. The more I watched her bawl, the more I felt like joining in, so I eventually switched off the screens, but it didn't help; the sound of her cries was heart-wrenching with or without the visuals.

. . ᴥ . .

"Okay," I said softly when Gotham General came into view. "This is your stop."

"Barbara... please, just kill me."

"What?!"

"I don't wanna live," she sniffled. "The love of my life is shishkabob. There's n-nothin' left for me in this world besides a cell in Arkham and a few leftover acid-squirting flowers. Just... just finish me off. Shouldn't take much, I look like a wad of used chewing gum."

I parked across the street from the hospital, whirling in my seat to look directly at her. "Don't you even _THINK _that! You were just saying how badly you wanted to turn your life around, and I don't think ending it's what you meant!"

"_Poo _on what I said!"

"Come on, Harley... you're not completely worthless. Weren't you a psychiatrist once?"

"Oh, yeah," she sobbed, rolling her bleary eyes. "Even if I _do _get outta Arkham sometime this century, what do I put in the Yellow Pages? 'Harleen Quinzel, The Psycho Psychiatrist: Watch Out, Her Couch Might Eat You'? I can pretty much kiss that career goodbye."

"You'll figure it out," I soothed. I couldn't believe I was doing this for _HER,_ but there's really no worse way to go than suicide, is there? "You could go back to school, learn a new trade. Maybe something to pay restitution for the trouble you've caused the people of Gotham."

"Hah! Like welding or baggin' groceries will make up for all that," she sniffled. "Next you're gonna say I oughtta-"

I waited a few seconds, but all she did was stare hard at me - like she was really seeing me for the first time, and was awestruck. "You oughtta...?"

"N-nah, it's stupid." She glanced at Tim, then looked up at me shyly through her curtain of now-ratty blood-stained hair. "You'll just say I'm a bimbo and that I could never hack it."

"Try me."

Still squirming, she finally went on. "Maybe... maybe while Robin there's laid up... I could stand in for 'im?"

I blinked. "You were right. You're a bimbo and you could never hack it."

"Don't be mean," she said, pouting. "I'm serious... how else can I _really _pay my debt to society but join the side of righteousness? It'll help more than watchin' mold grow on bars."

"Supervillains don't become crimefighters at the drop of a cowl," I informed her sternly. "And I don't think Bruce'll just welcome you into the fold because you feel bad about past sins - he's already foaming at the mouth because you know too much!"

"I told you it was stupid," she mumbled, biting her lip for a moment (which only made it bleed more). "But a girl can dream, can't she?"

I heaved a frustrated sigh, as well. "Either way, while Tim's getting better, _you _have to get better, too. Let's go."

"Okay..." She looked up at me sadly as she unbuckled her belt, tears still running down her cheeks. "You'll ring me if you need any help with the antidote, right?"

"Oh, sure." Catching the sarcasm in my voice, I coughed. "Really."

"And... and could you at least mention the Robin thing to the boss?"

"Harley-"

"Please... I got nothin' else. I never thought my whole mixed-up, crazy life would fall apart in one night."

Yeah, I know I said it just to make her feel better... though I don't know why I felt so obligated to. "Fine. But don't be surprised if he shreds your résumé without so much as a glance."

She smiled a little, then turned to Tim. "If- if you can hear me in there, kid... I'm awful sorry about all this. You can hate me, I don't blame you, but... well, I'm sorry."

He giggled, but nodded; Harley burst into tears. She berated herself and bemoaned her lost love quietly as I carried her across the street and toward the Emergency Room doors, then apologised for everything again when I left her on the stretcher outside. It was all I could do not to give that poor battered freak the same hug and sentiment I gave Tim earlier, but she was still an instrument of evil. With a quick look back at the EMTs swarming around her, I washed my hands of the matter.

Yeah. Sure I did.

END SESSION

* * *

MORE NOTES:

Right then, so THIS one. It took yours truly the better part of THREE YEARS to get this yarn spun - due, by and large, to the utter exploditude of my computer. That was a devastating event on SO many levels... but I am quite secure in the knowledge that you don't care, either because it's never happened to you, or it has and is old hat, or both (what?!). There were also my having something close to a life and my other fics to distract me. Luckily, it took nothing more than watching _Batman Beyond: Return Of The Joker _again for the first time since 2005 to reignite the passion, and after recovering the most recent surviving version from an old email attachment, I spent many hours at work (when I was supposed to be, you know, working) completing it. Anyway, at least it's done, and now you have it, and yes. Huzzahs are in order.

On that... if you hadn't picked up on it immediately, this DOES pick up exactly where the flashback in _BB:ROTJ _leaves off. That five- to ten-second scene of Barbara trying to save Harley was enough to inspire a novella. My muse is a snarky little beast.

Continuity-wise... I took my cues mostly from The Animated Series, though I mixed in a smidgen from the comics for flavour. I also used nutmeg. Liberally.

I've reasoned that this should be rated "T" for a reason, and I see no reason to give further reasons than that they exist. That may perhaps be the most inscrutable sentence I have ever written. Anyway, know that there shall be some language, sexual situations, and a little violence (not that much, actually), but none of it any worse than I've seen in a PG-13 film. Also, the drinking. Also, drugs, though not what you would call "controlled substance abuse". Also, at some point, a pretty dress is ruined. If you disagree and think this deserves a higher rating, please tell me as much; I'll be more than happy to nudge it up.

And by the way, we are NOT done. NO. There are over a dozen chappies left, all as long as this one (but I'll not provide the exact number, just so it's still an ambiguous surprise when you find yourself at the plot climax/end of the story - unless, of course, you're finding this after it's been completed, and in that case you'll know going in and find this paragraph pointless and laughable).

Reviews are appreciated. See you in Session 2!


	2. Deal With The Devil

Session Two: Deal With The Devil

Daddy - sorry, Commissioner Gordon - was informed of the whole chain of events, with certain secret identities left out, of course. We figured he should know that Gotham City's most dangerously unpredictable ruffian was off the streets for good; as we expected, he was a little disappointed that the Clown Prince of Crime wouldn't be serving his well-earned several dozen consecutive life sentences, but relieved to know they'd never have to worry about Smilex bombs hidden in parade floats again.

Since I only had a fair amount of knowledge in the chemicals department, Bruce thought it prudent that I take over the night watch while he worked on a cure for Tim around the clock. I could always count on him if more trouble arose than I could handle alone, of course; all I needed to do was tap my belt buckle twice and he'd be there in an inhumanly short amount of time. As it turned out, though, I never needed to; the news of Jack Napier's demise spread quick, and Gotham's criminal underworld almost dissolved completely in fear. They all thought we'd up and killed The Joker in cold blood, and when a formidable opponent like Batman seems to have taken off the kid gloves, it spells certain doom to cross him. Literally, the worst I saw for two months was a mugging at gunpoint, and when the hoodlum saw me coming... I kid you not, he wet himself.

On his own (with some small help from Alfred), Tim slowly became capable of speech; single words and short phrases, like "I'm hungry" and "bathroom" and "Barbara". It was horrible to see such a sharp kid regressed to a giggling infant... and, of course, he still looked like Joker's Mini-Me. As much progress as he was making alone, the antitoxin was all that could bring back our Tim... but Batman wasn't making any headway.

. . ᴥ . .

"Bruce?"

He looked up from the microscope as I dismounted the Batcycle and removed my helmet. "What is it?"

"How's it coming along?"

"Not well." He held two slides up to a fluorescent lamp. "This is the formula for Joker's serum, all right-" he nodded to a sheaf of papers on the table "-but it's frustratingly complex. Not only that, but it's in shorthand - a shorthand I'm unable to decipher. I'm only guessing at half of the terms, and the other half..."

I picked up one of the dozen test tubes of serum. "You tried analysing the toxin's components, right?"

"I fared little better with that." He sighed. "This is not a run-of-the-mill compound we're dealing with, here... and it's _certainly _not Smilex. Tim would've been cured weeks ago if it were."

You didn't have to be a shrink to see this really got to Bruce. Usually, no code or puzzle could stand for long against his calculating mind, but he was baffled, and it infuriated him - especially considering what was on the line. I knew what had to be done. "You know-"

"Don't." He looked at me sternly, and I folded my arms.

"How did you know what I was going to say?" When he just raised an eyebrow, I sighed. "I know, I know, world's greatest detective, blah blah blah. But maybe we _do-_"

"I'm not going to break her out of Arkham just to bail us out with this little project."

"Little project?! This is _TIM _we're talking about!"

Batman sighed again, setting the slides down. "You know what I mean. It's a selfish reason to usurp our judicial system."

"We don't have to spring her - they _do _allow visitors." I leaned against the table, finally pulling back my cowl and shaking out my auburn locks. "Look. Tim's still a head case. You're not getting anywhere by yourself. If anyone could read that formula - anyone that's still _alive,_ anyway - it's her. Bruce, I know we can't trust her, but it's worth a try... and our only lead."

His eyes went back to the microscope, and for a moment, I thought that was the end of the discussion. Then, as I was stalking past in frustration, his arm appeared in front of me, the papers in hand.

"If you could, get her to write the translated terms in red ink."

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Inmate number 6669."

Lazily, I looked up at the pair of eyes behind the slot in my cell's heavy steel door. "Yeah?"

"You have a visitor."

"Yeah, sure." I went back to my important task of balancing a pencil on my toe. What kind of cruel bastards tell you you have a visitor just to see how disappointed you are when you get out there? And they'd put me in the jacket, too... they always do that when you leave the cell.

"Hurry it up, Harley."

So let's test this guy. "Who is it, anyway?"

"Uh..." The pause where he pretended to check a clipboard. "A Miss Barbara Gordon?"

"What?!" The forgotten pencil probably rolled across the floor. "Are... are you sure?"

"We do check IDs."

Immediately, my feet were jamming themselves in those laceless slippers they give us. Batgirl was here, and to see _me!_ But why? Oh, did it really matter? I was getting sick of staring at the walls and trying to talk to all the other loonies, and she was the closest thing to a friend I had on the outside. It would be great to talk to a sane person that wasn't trying to analyse me - _especially _my own personal saviour!

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

The new Arkham facility has always felt somehow... _wrong _to me. Perhaps I had grown used to the dank, forbidding darkness that seemed to loom out from every corner of the old building, and the way the very smell in the air seemed to writhe with "crazy", but... this sterile, white storage locker for social deviants was way creepier.

"Barbara!" she shouted as she ran over to me... and slammed into the thick plastic wall face-first before she could remember it was there. "Oof!"

"Afternoon, Harley." I couldn't suppress a chuckle. "Disoriented from your time in?"

"I'm such a klutz," she laughed, sitting down in the chair provided and blinking dazedly. I noticed her hair, while not impeccable, was neatly up in pigtails as it normally was when she was in civilian dress... or, in this case, a straitjacket. I don't know which was worse: that they felt the need to put her in one, or that she didn't seem as uncomfortable as she should be. "Been a while since I was in here; I never get visitors."

"You healed nicely."

"Thanks," she said, smiling pleasantly. "Took them a while, but the doctors fixed me up good. I've only been in Arkham two weeks, and the rest of the casts and stuff came off Thursday. I feel like a new woman - and with all the pins and stuff, I practically am!"

"That's... good to hear. I have to admit, I was kinda wondering about permanent damage."

"No such luck," she giggled, prompting me to frown. "I made a full recovery - even got in the gym yesterday. Felt good to get the ol' muscles moving again."

"Speaking of which, how's Arkham been so far? Not burning anything down, are we?"

"Gosh, no!" She looked offended, but not terribly so. "I'm determined to make it out of here someday! Dr. Leland says I'm much better than I was last time - they're thinking about taking me off the lithium, too!" She hesitated, and when she spoke again, her voice wasn't quite as energetic. "Dr. Leland says Mister J being gone is making the difference... I'd do crazy things for him, and with him out of the picture, I'm not doing the crazy things so much, right?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess." Hey, I'm no therapist, but it sounded more than plausible.

"Oh, enough about me... how've you been?"

"Not bad. Gotham's mean streets have been quiet since... well, since that night."

She nodded. "Yeah... people in here keep saying, 'The Bat finally did it... he snapped and killed a guy!' They're scared witless!" Her voice lowered conspiratorially. "I thought it might help you guys out if I didn't say different."

"Thanks..." I smiled warmly. "It made my life easier, that's for sure; nobody seems to have the stones to even hold up a gas station anymore. But..."

She frowned slightly. "Hmm?"

"Well, we'd like to take you up on your offer."

She blinked, then began glowing. "What?! You mean... do I get a cape?!"

"Huh? Oh, no no, not that one!"

"Oh..." It seemed like every part of her anatomy sagged independently at that. "The formula?"

"Exactly. We're not having any luck at all." I hefted my attaché onto the narrow, transparent countertop and produced the photocopies Bruce had given me; I suppose he wanted to keep the originals safe, just in case Harley ate them or something. "Your former beau's got quite a little code working for him, here."

"He might've been whacko, but he was no fool." She smiled sadly, then coughed. "Um, how's... how's Tim?"

I cleared my throat, as well. "The formula..."

"Guess I shoulda known the answer to that," she muttered, then looked up. "How... how do I get those in here? There's this wall and all..."

"Oh, right..." I took a copy of the Sunday edition of The Daily Planet from my briefcase and discreetly tucked the formula in, then motioned to the guard outside. When he walked in, I said, "Mind passing this along to her?"

"A newspaper?" He scratched his head. "All our patients get the paper free."

"Not the Planet," Harley chimed in. "I like their relationship columnist. And the Gotham Gazette doesn't have Jumble, or Marmaduke!"

He shrugged as I handed it and a red ballpoint pen to him. "I don't see a problem with it." He leafed through it lazily to make sure there wasn't some sort of knife hidden inside (and uncapped the pen for the same reason), then walked out, through a security door and in the other side of the room, setting them down next to Harley. "Enjoy."

"Thanks, doll!" When he left again, she whispered, "I'll get to work as soon as I get back to my cell. Puddin' always left grocery lists and love notes in his special code to me, so this should be a piece o' cake!"

When her voice started to crack at the end of that, I couldn't help but frown. "You miss him?"

"Every stinkin' day." She probably would've propped her head up if her arm was free - as it was, she simply looked helpless and pathetic. "It's getting better, though... I'm starting to realise that while Mister J was a lot of fun sometimes, he wasn't such a great guy, y'know? Well, I guess I always knew that, but... now that I'm actually listening to Dr. Leland, it's really starting to sink in. Always the evil schemes, trying to plan the greatest prank of all time and play it on Batman... never time for me. He liked having me around, sure, but... I wasn't that important to him. I've been bawling over him for weeks, but if it were the other way around, he'd just say 'Drat, what a shame' and go back to planning his next big joke." Her forehead thudded against the security glass. "Everything always had to be his way, and I was just another of his toys. I... I guess I'm better off without him."

Not knowing what to say about all that (and _really _not wanting to say the wrong thing - maybe she _said _she was better off without Joker, but I had the feeling that if I agreed she'd automatically defend him), I simply nodded, then cleared my throat as I stood. "Yeah. Well, thanks for looking at the formula. Bruce is a little put off that he has to ask for help, but... I appreciate it. So does Tim."

"Hey, no biggie. I owe you, remember?" She peered up at me shyly. "I was trying to bump you off, and you saved my life - I don't think Hallmark makes a card for that! One measly formula is the least I can do."

"You're really serious about this, aren't you?" I cocked my head to the side slightly. "About paying me back?"

"I could never," she said with a slight laugh. "But as long as I'm still breathin', I'll keep tryin', anyway."

"Well... if you can help Tim come back to us, we'll call it square, okay?"

"No!" Her head snapped up, eyes wide. "That's not enough, you can't let me off that easy!"

"I saved your life, so you save Tim's. Sounds like an even trade to me."

She hesitated, then nodded. I smiled, but as I turned to leave, she called out. "Hey, Barbara?"

I had to recoil at the formal tone she took when she said my name; why had I been so irritated with her for shortening it before? "You can call me 'Babs' if you want to."

After a startled blink or three, she grinned... and I found that when Harley's grin wasn't accompanied by a large wooden mallet trying to dismantle your face, it was one of the cheeriest, most pleasant sights you could ever hope to experience. "I- I just..."

"Yes?"

"Thanks for listening, Babs."

"Anytime."

It was only when I got back to my Altima and pulled onto the highway that I noticed my smile hadn't wavered since I saw hers. She'd been so relieved, or overjoyed... and all because I let her use a nickname. Actually, I was dwelling on that so deeply I almost took a wrong turn and wound up in downtown Blüdhaven. Could it be that, despite what I'd always thought and what I still knew, there was truly a sweet, kind soul under all that mania?

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

When I was finally alone in my cell again, I cracked open the Planet to get down to business. The longer it took us to make an antidote, the less likely it was to take... and it'd been months as it was. But I found myself sidetracked for a few seconds.

"Oh, Babs," I laughed, taking the papers from the middle of the comics and uncapping the pen. Even though we really didn't know each other so good, she'd already figured out how to cheer me up.

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

When I descended the steps into the Batcave, I immediately noticed Bruce was toiling harder than he had been in weeks. That struck me as odd until I saw the white postal mailer on the worktable; it had only taken her five days.

"Is that from Harley?" I said, gesturing to the envelope.

"Mm-hmm." He took a pen from his mouth and turned a page, a rueful smile on his lips. "Looks like I should've swallowed my pride a long time ago; all her decoding makes perfect sense. With the pieces now in place, I should be able to brew an antitoxin in a few days."

"That's great!" I leaned back against the table. "Oh, it'll be so good to have the old Robin back."

"The old Tim," he corrected, turning his attention back to the papers to avoid looking me in the eye as the smile fell from my face. I stared at him for a long while, but he didn't speak again.

"He's off the team."

"Barbara," he sighed, "I can't let him endanger himself further. Not after the hell he went through."

"But he knew what he was signing up for," I protested. "He'll want to slip right back into the cape, and you know-"

"This is not up for debate."

"But-"

"Barbara." He looked up at me again, and his expression was quite firm. "Tim was every bit as capable as Dick was. His prowess is not in question. However, I just can't bring myself to risk his safety anymore. If he were to ever go through something like this again..."

I could feel my blood boiling hotter by the second. "Does that go for me, too? Am I supposed to hand over my utility belt and go back to being dull-as-dishwater Barbara Gordon?"

Okay, I _really _didn't like the look he was giving me, now. "If I were smart, I'd say 'yes'. But, unlike Tim, you're old enough to make your own decisions. He may be mature for his age, but he's still a boy. It's time he had something closer to a normal childhood."

"So when do we pick up a replacement?"

"We don't." He walked by me to get something from a cabinet, and I followed. "There will be no more Robins - at least none of school age. I should never have inducted any of them in the first place... especially not Jason."

There it was again. Anytime something went wrong in the Robin department, he went back to what happened to Jason Todd. "I wish you'd stop blaming yourself for that."

He laughed harshly. "Now you're dreaming."

I coughed formally, hoping what I had up my sleeve would derail that abysmal train of thought. "Well, I have a new Robin lined up, as it so happens... one that can actually drive the Batmobile legally."

"Oh really?" The skepticism on his face was priceless. "And who might that- oh, no. No, no, _no._"

"She does want to hop on the bandwagon," I said, feigning nonchalance. "And she did already help us solve one case."

"One case she perpetrated to begin with."

"The _Joker _perpetrated," I corrected. "She was no more responsible for it than I was."

He looked almost worried about _my _sanity for bringing it up at all. "You don't seriously expect me to entertain this longer than five seconds, do you?"

"Not really," I admitted. "She has a lot of points against her. But she asked me to ask you, so... there you go."

"You're serious." Now he looked puzzled. "Harley Quinn really wants to throw in with the Gotham Knights?"

"Is it that weird?" It was, but nevertheless I found myself arguing her case. "Her entire life just dissolved around her in a way that made it impossible for her to stay the same. In that situation, anybody would _have _to either turn over a new leaf, find some new direction, or... snap completely."

"Hmm... and she hasn't quite gone beyond the Point Of No Return, I suppose." He had been nodding, but now shook his head as he brought an ultraviolet light over to the worktable. "Well, I'm going to have to say 'no' on the sidekick front - though it is nice to be reminded that people can still change in today's world."

"Yeah... yeah, it is."

I was mulling over how sincerely I meant that when Bruce cleared his throat. "Speaking of Miss Quinzel, she stuck a... note in there with the formula. It was addressed to you, so I didn't read it."

"Oh, well thank you," I said drily. "Avoiding a felony charge, eh?"

He smirked, then handed me the piece of paper... a page from the Planet's Sunday funnies. The letter had been written in the margins. "And you wonder why I'm reluctant to believe she's come back to reality," he muttered when he saw the bemused expression on my face. I laughed, then read on.

_"Dear Babsy,_

Sorry about the funny papers; I can't exactly go out and pick up a typewriter, y'know! Sure, there's the library, but I might get punished if I ripped up some book just to write a letter. Anyway, here's the formula; I hope you guys can use it to bring back Timmy. I know you said we'd be even stevens if I did this, but when I get out of here (and that might be sooner than you think!), I'm gonna do what I can for you guys. Brucey has a butler, but does he have a maid? A chauffer? A cook? Wait, nevermind... I can't cook, haha! Anyway, TTFN!

XOXO,  
Harley"

"Huh."

"What's that?" Bruce replied distractedly.

"It's just... how dead-set she is on helping us. I wouldn't believe it if it weren't staring me in the face."

"Well, you're her saviour. If Christ suddenly walked into a chapel and asked someone to help him change a flat tire, don't you think most of the congregation would leap at the chance?"

"Hmm..." That thought made me a little uncomfortable, but I knew it was true - after all, we were heroes, and hero worship comes with that territory. "Guess they would."

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

"You're awfully chipper this afternoon."

I looked up. "Why d'you say that?"

"You're humming."

"Was I really?" I blinked, then laughed. "Maybe. Didn't realise."

Dr. Leland's thin, dark eyebrow hiked slightly; she was trying to read me like a trashy novel again. "Something nice happened."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Is this about that friend you were helping?"

"Yeah." Sometimes it bothered me how easily she remembered little off-hand comments I made, but that was her job; I'd probably be doing the same thing if I'd never met Mister J. "I think I really made a difference. She sent me a thank-you note the other day."

"Really? What did you do?"

Dr. Leland always knew when I was hedging, but I had to; I couldn't tell her the whole story, could I? It would probably ruin everything for Babs. "She was having trouble figuring out something... a really important problem, for her work. I put my two bits in, and I guess it was just what the doctor ordered."

She nodded. "You did something good, and you feel good. It's only natural."

I rolled my eyes. "I know you're gonna say a buncha crud about how I coulda been doing good for a long time if it weren't for Mister J."

"I wasn't," she said, holding up her hands innocently. "But I thought we talked about using that name."

"Oh, right, sorry - I'm supposed to be saying 'The Joker' so I don't feel attachment to him anymore." I shifted uneasily. "It's hard to remember, though... I got so used to it."

"Believe me, I understand that, Harleen. He was a very big part of your life for a very long time, but you have to move on if you want to be your own woman again."

I bit my lip for a moment. Dr. Joan Leland was a nice lady, really, and I didn't want to be a pain in the butt... but I just couldn't seem to get through to her about this, and it was important. "Harley."

As I figured she would, Dr. Leland frowned. "I thought we talked about that, too."

"We did, but... but that's different." I found my seat too uncomfortable, so I stood and leaned against the wall. "I know it'll be good for me to start thinkin' of him as That Darn Joker, to stop remembering him as the man I... the man I loved." I took a deep breath, both to push him from my mind and to steel my nerves. This time, I had to say it just right... get her to understand. "But I AM Harley Quinn. With or without Mist- The Joker, it's my name, now. Yeah, maybe I changed it over permanently for him, but... everybody used to call me that all the time in high school. It's my nickname, right? Nicknames just stick sometimes. I mean, Will Smith doesn't record too much rap anymore, but people still call him The Fresh Prince."

She was actually stunned. "Wow... you know, in all our sessions together, I don't think I've ever heard you make a logical comparison like that before."

"Aw, c'mon," I said, grinning. "I may be a little soft in the head, but my brain's not complete tofu."

Dr. Leland laughed appreciatively, then looked at me for a long moment. It seemed like a whole minute passed before I had to say "What?"

"Oh, nothing." She checked her watch, then looked up again and said, "Before we break for the day, I wanted to ask if you've given any more thought to the question of a career."

"Well... a little." I felt like I was on trial; geez, how do you pick a job when your previous employer was a raving lunatic? "I thought it might be fun to make toys... ones that don't explode, of course."

A slight smile. "Of course. Anything else?"

"Well... I dunno. My friend put the idea of college in my head, and it's starting to sound good... I won't go back into the brain-picking biz, but if I took all those first-year classes again, I might trip over something I like."

She nodded. "Tabula rasa."

I frowned. "You know I don't speak Spanish... why do you always do that?"

Dr. Leland shook her head, laughing. "It's Latin; I only meant it can be refreshing to start over, and college would give you time to consider your options. If you did go back to school, I'd say it was a sound decision."

"And if I did..." This was almost embarrassing to admit. "Well, I kinda wanna have a grunt job. It's not my dream or anything, but I never really did it. I was always so set on psychology that the whole burger-flipper thing passed me by... I didn't need it for school, 'cause I had my parents and those scholarships and stuff. Sure, that was nice and all, but I can't help feeling I missed out."

"Well, take it from someone who had to put herself through college; you'll hate it in a week."

We both laughed as I sat down again. After a moment, something came back to me. "What's 'nothing'?"

"Hmm?"

"When a shrink just stares at you for an hour like ya got a really bizarre tattoo on your face, it's never 'nothing'."

She smiled coyly. "Well, it might be something... but I'll have to think it over." Sighing, she glanced at her watch. "And I'll do my thinking later; right now, it's time for Mr. Tetch's appointment."

"Oh joy," I said flatly. "Good luck with that." I barely caught myself before adding "He's nuts" - a phrase which applied to me and all my fellow inmates. "Same time tomorrow?"

"See you then... Harley."

END SESSION


	3. Emancipating The Enemy

Session Three: Emancipating The Enemy

"God, I hope this works."

Alfred Pennyworth flicked the end of the hypodermic needle he was holding, glanced at the both of us, and lowered it into the crook of an unconscious Tim Drake's left arm, injecting him with a full dose of the antitoxin. When the syringe was empty, he laid it on the polished silver tray next to him and sat back. "Only time will tell," he whispered.

Hours crept by. After the first two, Tim started thrashing around, but he did not wake; the sedative had been fairly potent to keep him from being aware of the changes (in case they were severely painful). When we checked on him in the morning, we noticed his skin and hair were almost back to their normal hues; the serum had accomplished that much, at least.

But when he awoke, he still was not Tim. He babbled incoherently, looked around wildly, was almost destructive to his surroundings. Bruce said he'd expected this - that we'd need to give him multiple doses before we saw lasting results - but I think all three of us had been hoping it would all be over when he woke up. Bruce brewed more antitoxin, Alfred administered it, and again we waited.

This time, it seemed to take; he certainly looked like our ex-Robin, now, and he could speak. He still acted strangely on edge, and his sentences didn't always form correctly... but it was painfully, agonisingly obvious that this couldn't be cured with any potion. The Joker had done some serious damage to Tim's psyche, and there wasn't much we could do about that.

Leslie Thompkins, a physician and old friend of the Wayne family, was called in by Bruce to look after Tim and see what she could do to help him. Week after week, Tim grew more well-adjusted, started to seem less paranoid and more like himself... and I knew what that would lead to.

. . ᴥ . .

"C'mon, dammit!"

"Once isn't enough?" Bruce muttered, reaching for a wrench. Tim stepped on it to keep it from moving, and Bruce wheeled out from under the Batmobile to stare up at his one-time sidekick. I just sat on the hood and tried to act like I wasn't heartsick about this.

"You need me," Tim insisted. "So what if I went on a trip down Joker's Tunnel Of Lunacy? It's not like you haven't been shot, gassed, sliced open and pummeled dozens of times - per week - since you took the job!"

"That's the kind of thing that shouldn't happen to a boy of your age," Bruce said, sweeping at Tim's leg with a sudden low kick. Tim hopped over it, and Bruce grabbed the spanner and returned his attention to the car's underside. Tim's eyes narrowed.

"Bruce, it's been almost six months since Joker bit the big one. Miss Thompkins says I won't need to see her anymore after tomorrow, so what's the big deal? I'm itching to get back in action!"

The voice under the car sounded very, very tired. "It's not the kind of life you should be leading."

"Who are you to say what kind of-"

"Miss Gordon," Alfred said as he came into view, tabling the argument for the time being.

"What is it, Alfred?"

"A telephone call." He seemed kind of uneasy about it, but continued anyway. "Miss Quinn wishes a word."

I looked between Tim and Bruce, whom were both staring at me curiously, shrugged, then moved across the cave to the phone. I barely had time to pick up the receiver and say "Hello?" before Harley's excited voice was blasting in my ear.

"You'll never believe it, Babs! I got a hearing!"

"Yeah? For what?"

"Gettin' outta here, that's what!" I could almost hear her jumping up and down on the other end. "Dr. Leland says she thinks I'm ready to hit the real world again!"

"That's great, Harl!" I said nervously. Was she ready? Was Gotham ready? I hoped that Leland woman knew what she was doing. "So when is it?"

"Next week! I'm going to do my best to look less crazy until then, too. Ohh, I only hope this works!"

"Good luck!" This was more than a little weird; Harley Quinn, former sidekick to the greatest criminal mastermind of all time, was singling me out for what felt remarkably like girl talk. "Hey, let me know if there's anything I can do, okay?"

She hesitated. I didn't expect her to come up with anything this soon, and I instantly realised how foolish I'd been to grant her an open-ended favour like that. "Well, actually... Aw, Babs, I don't want you to go out of your way, though; if you got work, or a dentist appointment or something-"

"Just spit it out," I laughed.

"I dunno if you agree with them. Really, I'd understand if you thought I should stay in here a while longer; I mean, after all, I'm Joker's former floozy."

"Far be it from me to disagree with a qualified psychiatrist. What do you need?"

There was a long pause. "Okay. If you could come in and say something... I don't know what you'd say, but if I had more than just the shrink vouch for me, maybe the panel would take me more seriously?"

"Well, I don't know what I'd say, either..." A thousand thoughts rumbled through my brain - Harley might just go back to her old ways when she hit the streets again, but this Leland seemed to think she wouldn't. Hadn't she changed drastically in the past months? Didn't that count for something? Finally, when Tim walked over and looked at me inquisitively, casually sipping at a mug of cocoa, it settled the matter. "...but sure. Whatever you need, you got it."

"Oh, thank you!" Her voice choked slightly. "I... I can't believe I'm asking you for help again so soon, but if I can get outta this chicken coop, maybe I can pay you back!"

"I thought we went over this," I sighed. "You already did that."

"But if you help me out with this thing, I'll have to pay you back again." Why did I get the feeling she _wanted _to be in my debt? "Oh, crap!"

"What?"

"My time's up, I gotta go," she whispered quickly. "But I'll see you at the hearing, Babsy!"

Before I could say anything - especially about going from "Babs" to "Babsy" - the line went dead.

"What was all that jazz?" Tim asked.

"Arkham might be losing a resident... without an explosion this time."

"Harley's getting out?" He looked worried. "Crap."

"Might not be crap," I shrugged. "She did bring you back from... wait a minute."

"Huh?"

I smiled slightly. "Tim, would you be willing to tell some old, stuffy so-and-sos about what The Joker did to you?"

A hollow look spread over his features... as it always did when the madman was mentioned, now. His mind spent a few seconds careening through the horrors he'd been through, then he looked up. "What for?"

"On Harley's behalf."

His mug fell to the ground and shattered. "But- but why? She helped do that to me!"

"She helped you get out of it." I looked up soberly, noticing Alfred moving to get a mop out of the corner of my eye. "And how much of that horrible treatment really came from her?"

He glared at me for a moment, then sighed. "None. It was all that bastard Joker, of course; Harl just stood on the sidelines and pretended to look interested."

"If you told them how awful the experience was, then about how Harley helped us translate Joker's formula to get you back, maybe the board or whoever will be impressed enough to give her a shot at a normal existence again."

Bruce had now joined us, wiping his greasy hands on an old rag, and the look on his face didn't even vaguely smack of pleased. "This sounds like a mistake, Barbara. Nothing good has ever come from an Arkham inmate being released."

"If she flips out and goes back to her old ways, all we have to do is catch her again, right? There's not much to lose here... but Harley has every right to a new life after what she did for us."

Bruce glanced at Tim, whom was staring at the ground and shaking his head with disbelief, then looked at me again. "I suppose so."

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

As my eyes darted nervously between the armed guards near the doors and the officials in their important seats, I don't think I'd ever been so on edge in my entire life; three people were about to decide my fate, and if I wasn't un-crazy enough, who knows how long I'd be cooped up in Arkham?

On the bright side, they let me wear something other than a straitjacket to the small civil courthouse; I'd picked out a nice maroon suit with a modest skirt, and went with the glasses instead of contacts (I wanted to look professional _and _smart). My hair was back in a single ponytail instead of the twins I normally paraded... which I thought looked stupid, but oh, well.

Directly in front of me was the balding Judge Schumaker; I didn't know him from Adam, but I hoped to God he was on my side. Commissioner Gordon, a man I didn't want to see more often than I had to, was on his right; I'm sure he's a nice guy, but the last few times we ran into each other usually ended with me in the funny farm again. On his left was Jeremiah Arkham, descendant of the asylum's founder and current big cheese; he was the guy who was all gung-ho about getting his patients back into society. I had a feeling that Gordon was the one I had to worry about.

"Well, let's get this started," Schumaker said with a cough. "There's a homicide and three assaults on the dockett behind Miss Quinzel, here."

"Please, Your Honor," Denise said. Denise was introduced to me as my legal aide - her last name never stuck with me, as it was really long and hard to pronounce - though she was mostly there to make sure nobody did anything that stepped on my rights. "We have character witnesses we're waiting on."

"We appreciate that, Miss Wolfred-Matzenbacher-" _that's _what it was! "-but if they don't arrive soon, we'll either have to start without them or reschedule, and might I remind you that it would be at least three months."

"Three months?" I moaned.

"I say we reschedule," Commissioner Gordon said. "If Dr. Leland over there-" he gestured to the front row of the jury box "-says she's ready now, a few more months can only help her."

"That's inhumane," Denise countered. "Keeping a sane woman institutionalised is cruel and unusual punishment."

"Then let's get on with it," the judge said. "If we find her to be fit to reenter society, then your witnesses weren't necessary; if not, maybe they'll be on time for the next hearing."

Maybe Babs didn't want me to get out. Maybe she thought that even though I'd gotten better, it was too soon to say I was cured completely. It did seem awfully fast... but what if something happened to her? What if some crook caught her off guard, what-

"Joan, let's start with you," Arkham said, saving me from looking down that road too long. "You've been her psychologist since she was first committed to the asylum. What tells you that Miss Quinzel has been rehabilitated?"

"Honors," Dr. Leland began, clearing her throat and glancing at me briefly, "in the past months, the patient has shown a marked increase in logical reasoning. She's shown a previously-absent interest in interacting with peers, and a sense of accomplishment and well-being when able to help them with problems. Her grief over the death of Jack Napier - alias Joker - could be construed as a continued disease, but she's handled it in a way any rational person would; the initial bereaved hysterics, the brief bout with denial, the period of anger and frustration with herself, acceptance of loss and true mourning... followed by moving beyond grief - moving forward in life. Not only that, but the major symptoms of her illness - comatose-like trances, obsession over The Joker, sudden, irrational outbursts of rage and violence - have all but completely disappeared; since being taken off her prescribed dose of lithium, she has shown no sign of need for it again." She shrugged slightly. "The subject conducts herself like what I can only describe as a healthy, sane human being."

"It's the 'all but completely' that worries me," Gordon said, pulling at his white moustache. "She's been hanging around with that crackpot Joker for so long that it's hard for me to believe she's suddenly all better. You really think you cured her for good?"

"I didn't 'cure' her," Joan said with a slight smile. "She came back on her own."

Just as they were exchanging quizzical glances, the doors burst open and in walked Bruce Wayne, Barbara Gordon... and Tim Drake. I almost cried out in joy at seeing him back to his old self - it was the first time I'd seen the poor kid since that night. Babs was the only one that really seemed to want to be here, though; the other two looked mostly like their arms had been twisted. I also noticed the Commish seemed a little surprised to see his daughter there, but I think laughing at his expression would've been a bad move, so I didn't.

"Well, well, well," the judge said. "So you decided to show up after all?"

"I apologise for our tardiness," Bruce said briskly. "Traffic, you know."

"Quite all right," he replied, nodding. "You haven't missed much. Will that be all, Dr. Leland?"

"Unless you think of anything to ask," she said, settling in to watch the rest. The three people holding my life in their hands looked expectantly at Denise; she looked at Team Bat, and Tim walked forward.

"And your name?" Schumaker asked.

"Timothy Drake, Your Honour."

"Well, let's have it."

He hesitated, just watching me for a long moment (how creepy), then took a deep breath. "Well, I guess it all started when The Joker and Harley wanted a son, and he had the idea to turn some kid into a younger version of himself... that'd be me. The injections of Joker's weird formula, the shocks, the mental brainwashing... it was pretty harsh, but Harley was really just along for the ride; I could tell she'd rather just adopt a baby or something. Anyway, when Barbara Gordon found me - and Harley, all banged up - she brought Harley to the hospital, then found out I've been living at Wayne Manor for a while, so she took me home. Once he found out what happened, Mr. Wayne had some scientists trying to find a cure, but they kept hitting dead ends."

"Digging around the old Arkham building," Bruce continued, "a few of my associates found The Joker's notes on what exactly he did to Mr. Drake, but none of my scientists could puzzle out the madman's strange scrawlings."

"Get to the point," the judge said. "How does this all mean Miss Quinzel is no longer a danger to herself and others?"

"She repeatedly offered to help bring Tim here back to normal in any way she could," Barbara went on, "both before I took her to the hospital and after we arrived. She seemed to honestly regret what her then-partner had done to the boy. When Mr. Wayne's people couldn't crack The Joker's code, I visited her to ask if she'd still be willing to give it a shot... and she was. The point is, Your Honour, that Timothy Drake would more likely than not still be a raving lunatic with chalk-white skin and green hair if not for Harley's assistance."

"I owe her my sanity," Tim said quietly. "Not that I'm good as new, but... pretty much." He looked over at me and winked - which made me gape in surprise. Was he serious? I figured Babs had put him up to it before then, 'cause nobody else really wanted me out amongst the other Gothamites, but...

"You do realise, Mr. Wayne," the Commissioner said suddenly, "that your 'associates' shouldn't have been in the old Arkham building to begin with; it's condemned."

"I do," he replied. "Rest assured, they did so without my permission, and were reprimanded severely for their misbehaviour; they've been told to ask the GCPD to handle such things in the future. However, under the circumstances, I couldn't bring myself to fire any of them, as the information they unearthed was very helpful."

"Understandable," Jeremiah Arkham muttered. "There was a boy's fragile young mind at stake."

"Your Honours," Denise interjected, "it sounds to me like the Miss Quinzel before us today is not only sane, but a person of admirable moral fibre. The terms of her internment at Arkham Asylum were that she remain there until proven fit to resume a normal life, correct?"

"Yes, of course," the judge said.

"Am I proof enough?" Tim asked, barely hiding a smirk. Oh, I coulda kissed that boy!

"When I gave her the formula to look over," Barbara said quietly, "she was so... normal. She seemed like any one of my friends I've had since college; saner than some of them." She swallowed, and the way her eyes flicked toward me briefly told me she was about to bend the truth a tad. "I don't know much about how she was before, but the Harley I met seemed like an optimistic, bright girl; maybe a little naive, but then... weren't most of us at some point or another?"

"Okay, so we've heard from everyone else," Jeremiah said smoothly. "Let's hear from the source herself. How do you plan to contribute to society as a whole if you're released?"

I almost froze. Suddenly, the spotlight was shining on me, and it felt more like the headlights of a semi; bullets started rolling down my temples. But I heard Babs cough, and out of the corner of my eye I saw a tiny, insignificant thumbs-up... and it gave me the willpower to respond. Of course, it was a knee-jerk response, and probably the dumbest thing I could've said.

"What, my overwhelming beauty ain't enough?"

To my amazement, my lame joke got the courtroom rolling; even the intimidating guards couldn't suppress a chuckle or two. I laughed nervously and shrugged, and when everything began quieting down, the judge tapped his gavel a few times.

"I don't know about the rest of you," he chortled, "but I'm convinced."

"I've never seen any of our patients come this far in such a short period," Arkham said through a grin, wiping his glasses, "but then again, Miss Quinzel underwent a sudden personal tragedy; that would spark change in anyone. I'd say we're lucky that, in this case, it seems to have been for the better."

"I do think this should be a conditional release, given her past," Gordon put in. "Maybe a year of continued therapy, just to make sure there'll be no sort of relapse."

"I'm not going back to being The Joker's Girl Friday anytime soon," I said meekly. "The position's been kinda downsized now, right? Besides, it's time I tried to stand on my own two feet and make something of myself."

They all nodded unanimously, then turned inward to talk amongst themselves. I watched as they motioned for Dr. Leland to join the huddle, biting my lip anxiously, until I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Hey," Babs whispered.

"Oh, thank you!" I hissed, hugging her before I could stop myself. "Thank you so much for coming!"

After a few startled seconds (and it wasn't just her that was startled), she hugged back, whispering, "You deserve it." Then, as I was about to deny that, they turned back around, and I tried not to seem distraught about facing my doom.

"Harleen Quinzel, you are hereby granted a conditional release," Schumaker bellowed, "provided you continue to receive council through Dr. Joan Leland; one session per week for the following six months. If no further council is deemed necessary at that time, an unconditional, permanent release will be granted. Congratulations, Miss Quinzel."

Well, I could tell from the looks on people's faces that it wasn't standard courtroom behaviour, but I couldn't stop myself, I was finally _FREE! _ They must've thought they just made a huge mistake; the jubilant whoop and cartwheel over the table, hugging first the judge, Arkham, the Commissioner (he looked a little flabbergasted), the series of backflips, shaking Dr. Leland's hand so hard I was afraid it might fall off, doing the same to Denise What's-Her-Face. Then I hugged Tim and told him how glad I was that he came out of it more or less okay, picked Babs up and spun her around, and gingerly shook Bruce's hand. Even though he was smiling, I could still see the skeptical look in his eyes; it told me he wasn't as ready as the court to believe I was capable of rational thought. At the moment, I could care less; I was out, and I could start over again! The sky was the limit!

"All right, all right," the judge said merrily, pounding his gavel, "I'm glad you're a free woman, too, but we have a few criminals waiting to get in here, so you'll have to move this party to the pub."

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

"The Pub" turned out to be Lamburghini's restaurant on the other side of town; Bruce insisted (ever the roguish charmer when outside the cape). It's widely known for its delicious food, expansive stock of fine wines, and inflated prices. Harley ducked into the ladies' room to put in her contacts while we were waiting for our table, and I stayed out in the foyeur with Bruce and Tim, idly shifting in our seats.

"I can't believe we're about to have dinner with a homicidal maniac," Tim hissed.

I shrugged. "It wouldn't be the strangest thing we've done in our line of work."

He stared at me thoughtfully for a moment before replying, "No, I think this pretty much wins... and the Muzak here is horrifying."

"Wayne, party of four," a spindly man asked, spotting our famous entrepreneur before he could raise his hand. "This way."

A single candle guttered in the center of our table as we were seated, Tim being thoughtful enough to pull out my chair for me (such a little gentleman). As Bruce casually glanced down the wine list, Tim continued his previous thought.

"So," he began in a low voice, "what do you think her game is?"

"Game?"

"I have been thinking the same thing," Bruce admitted, pressing the corner of the thin menu to his lips. "Of course, I'd like nothing more than to be proven wrong, but-"

"But hyenas rarely change their spots," I sighed. "Yes, Bruce, you've said it a hundred times."

He frowned. "Barbara, I hope you're not being taken in by all this."

"It's hard not to! Seriously, the psychiatrist says she's improved; what more do you want to hear?"

"I want to hear it from a _panel _of psychiatrists. Harleen was one herself once upon a time, and might you remember how her therapeutic skills availed her?"

"I know, I know." I bit my lip, internally questioning myself for the billionth time why I was defending her at all. "But you have to remember, she was really naive; fresh out of college. How could you expect anyone in that situation to stand a chance against a head case like-"

"Head case?" Harley asked as she joined us, glasses-free and hair already back in pigtails. "Ain't talkin' about me, are ya?"

The guilt must have shone through our faces like searchlights, because she cleared her throat and laughed. "Eh, it's all right, I'm probably the number one topic of the day. So... what's everybody having?"

The night was considerably more pleasant after that, and even though she sneezed out the _en flambé _dessert Bruce ordered for us, I could tell Harley was on her best behaviour. An hour or two passed before Bruce picked up the check, and we had scarcely pulled out of the lot in his Rolls Royce when Tim asked, "Okay, where should we drop you off?"

"Oh," Harley gasped. "Cheese doodles, I haven't thought about that yet! I mean, the chances of me gettin' sprung were slim to none, so why bother?"

I blinked. "You mean... you don't have a place to stay? _Any _place?"

"Nope. My parents disowned me, and anyway, they're living over in Blüdhaven. Puddi- I mean, the Joker, he was my whole life for so long that I ain't got any sane friends no more, so... am I supposed to find a halfway house now, or what?"

"That's stupid," I gusted automatically. "You can-" Batman's sharp eyes in the rearview mirror were giving me a warning look just a few seconds after I could have used it "-stay with me."

The car was silent. If it hadn't been for Harley staring me down, I would have slapped my hand over my mouth when my words caught up to me. What was I doing, telling a convicted felon and former mental patient that my doors were open to her? Did I have a death wish?

"Babsy, do you mean it?" she whispered, a smile spreading across her lips, eyes shining in the glow of streetlamps speeding past. "Really, truly?"

"Uhhhh, well, yeah," I forced myself to say, realising it was way too late to take it back. Open mouth, insert foot... but maybe I could do some damage control, right? "I mean, for a few nights, to give you time to get your own place - or at least find a cheap hotel room somewhere. You shouldn't have to start looking tonight."

Tim was watching me, as if waiting for antlers to sprout from my head. The warning look from Bruce had morphed into more of a "you have no idea what you're doing" glare. Meanwhile, Harley was biting her lip, trying not to squeal with glee. Of course, she failed.

"_EEEEEEEEEE_EEEEEEEEE!! Babs, oh Babs, thank you! Jiminy Christmas, I can't believe it, you're amazing, one of a kind! Thanks so much, I'll never forget this!"

"Oh, I really wish you would," I said through clenched teeth.

"This'll be so much fun," she continued, locking elbows with me. Tim smirked. "You'll see! We can stay up all night and watch old movies, talk about boys - like a nostalgia night for those college days gone by! And- and I won't be any bother, honest, I'll pick up after myself and I don't have any pets! You won't even know I'm there!"

. . ᴥ . .

Except I did know. A neverending flow of verbal diarrhea stretched from when I offered Harley a place to crash, through the car ride, into my apartment and for at least another hour after that. The silver lining was that I could pretty much tune her out, as she was so gushy and bubbly that she didn't bother waiting for me to speak before plunging onward.

"...and the gum was so hard by that point that peanut butter wasn't gonna do the trick," she was babbling as I pulled out the sofa-sleeper. "Had to chop it right off! Boy, was I steamed - I didn't speak to Robbie for a week! Little jerk. I ended up dating him Sophomore year in high school, though; not a bad kisser. Hey!"

I blinked, looking up from my coma. "Huh?"

"What's that little tattoo I see?" she asked, a coy smile spreading across her lips.

"I- I don't know what you mean," I lied, pulling the back of my shirt down.

"No, no, I definitely saw it!" Her hand snatched at my hands, and I backed out of reach, avoiding her eyes as she giggled. "Looked like some kinda duck or somethin'. You got a thing for Daffy, or what?"

"C'mon, just drop it, okay? It's embarrassing."

That expression told me she thought I was being obstinate. "Embarrassing stories are the best kind, ya crazy! Now, spill, c'mon!"

When I just sighed, she hopped into my recliner, shoes flying in both directions as her legs folded under her. Watching her expectant, shining face for a few seconds, I caved like a pathetic little weakling. "Oh, all right, all right."

"Yay! This'll be juicy, I bet!"

"But you're going to get the short version, because it's very late, and this is not something I want to discuss with a former nemesis."

She waved a hand, as if to dismiss her years of felonious mayhem. "Nemeses, schmemeses - let's have the dirt, what could possibly be-"

"It's a robin, not a duck, and that was a very long time ago," I blurted. "Years - feels like decades. Now, I really want to go to bed."

Her jaw hung open. "You and the Boy Wonder?! _No!_"

"Do you have to make a big deal?" I whined.

"The old one, right?" She was leaning forward excitedly, nails digging into her calves. "The one who skipped town? He was all muscly and suave."

"No, Timmy," I said sarcastically. "We dated when he was four. Yes, Dick."

"Dick?"

Shit - way to blow a secret identity wide open, Barbara! "Er, uhh, no, that's-"

"Wait, wait, I knew that," she muttered. "When Mister J had Timmy strapped to- I mean... sorry, I shouldn't be talking about that, should I?"

"No," I said coldly. When Harley wilted, I added, "That's going to be a tender subject for a while, y'know."

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

Was it getting hot in there? My apartment was normally so drafty... I watched Harley as she stared at the floor, blonde bangs hanging in her eyes as her fingers slipped between her toes absentmindedly. Was she really the same girl who used to dress up in a red-and-black leotard, planting bombs and laughing gas at the beck and call of The Batman's arch nemesis? The more I got to know her, the less I understood - not just about her, but about everything. Did hyenas actually change their spots every once in a while? Could you go from supervillain to upstanding citizen? My father had always told me you could, but maybe I never really believed him before this strained moment; it seemed like an irreversible path, one that you only followed deeper and deeper into darkness. Maybe not. Maybe you really could turn it around.

"Babs, are you mad?"

I looked up sharply. "What? Why would I be mad?"

She frowned down at the carpeting. "You kinda clammed up. Thought maybe what I said..."

"Oh, no, no," I reassured her, standing and smoothing out my skirt. "Just lost in thought for a minute. Um... goodnight, Harley."

"G'night - oh, and thanks again for-"

"Don't mention it."

My thoughts followed me into my cozy bedroom, like a cloud clinging to my forehead. If a felon like her could do a one-eighty, couldn't I? Was it possible for me to go bad? My skin crawled beneath my bedclothes. I'd never really imagined that I could be anything other than a crimefighter; if not under a cape and cowl, then behind a police shield, or in the courtroom, or somewhere else. At the very least, I saw myself running a business that helped people in some small way. For the first time in my life I entertained the notion that I, Commissioner Gordon's daughter, could end up on the wrong side of the law.

Sleep did not come easily.

END SESSION


	4. Nemesis To Nuisance

Session Four: Nemesis To Nuisance

When I awoke the next morning, I found the sofa sleeper already folded up and put away, throw pillows neatly back in place. What a studious little homicidal maniac she was! I smiled to myself... until I smelled it.

"Shoot!" I heard coming from the kitchen. "C'mon, go out - what does it take?!"

I followed that voice into the kitchen to see a skillet on fire. That is, my eyes were drawn to that first; after a moment, I registered Harley approaching said skillet with a bottle of water, poised to douse again.

"Harley, what-"

"_BABS!_" she yelped, splashing herself instead of the flames. "Oh, I- you're up already! You, uh, how did ya sleep?"

"There's, um... a fire, and we-"

"Right, right!" She threw the water at the pan but it only made the flames leap around. "Hey, that's not what's supposed to happen!"

"Wait," I said, running forward and pulling open the drawer under the stove. "Yeah, here we go - look out!"

"_OW!_" she howled, backing up. Ignoring her for a moment, I threw the lid onto the pan, then turned off the burner. Where was the oven mitt? I lifted the lid, but whatever she'd been cooking was still on fire, so I dropped the lid again.

"It'll go out eventually," I panted, taking the mitt off and turning away from it. "Without oxyg... _G-GOD,_ Harley, are you okay?!"

"It's nothin'," she assured me with a weak laugh, staring wide-eyed at a shining burn on her forearm. "I've got plenty worse before, y'know."

"No, no, we have to get you to a hospital! Hang on, I'll get the-"

"I'm fine," she said firmly, teeth clenched in a grimace of pain. "Don't want you goin' outta your way, just... where's your medicine cabinet?"

"Bathroom," I panted, staring at her in disbelief. Was she for real? But I couldn't force her to go if she didn't want to.

Several minutes later, I was scraping the ruined mess into the garbage disposal when it caught up to me; she'd been trying to make breakfast. Two slices of toast were now cool in the toaster's slots, and a carton of orange juice was on the counter. What was going on? Why was _she _going out of her way all of a sudden?

"I'm such a friggin' disaster," she laughed as she rejoined me. A short section of her arm was tightly bound. "Maybe I shoulda just made Pop Tarts?"

"You didn't have to make anything," I sighed. "That's what Denny's is for. Besides, you just got out, you should take it easy for a day or two."

"But I can't! All the awful stuff I did, I've gotta start now if I ever want to make up for it all!"

"Really?" I couldn't help but smile as I buttered a piece of the now-hard bread. "What past sin does 'making Batgirl breakfast' cover?"

"Uhh... let's see. Oh! Remember the time I brought that cake in, and it gassed your pops, and-"

"Okay, okay," I cut her off. Why did I even ask? I didn't want to think about her sordid past in that much detail or I might throw her out the window. "But... thanks."

She smiled nervously. "For what? Charred omelet?"

"Is _that _what that was? Wow, I wondered..."

"Hey! It would have been fantastic, I'm tellin' ya, but I left it too long while I was... well, I was readin' the ingredients on the orange juice. Don't be mad, okay?"

"I'm not," I laughed. "Truth is, I do that too sometimes." I chewed thoughtfully on the inside of my cheek for a while as she scrubbed at the pan half-heartedly (I'd already written it off). "So... what are your plans for the day?"

"Oh... I don't know," she said slowly. "Well, I wanna get myself some half-decent clothes, but I don't know if I should..."

Something was off in that sentence. "Should?"

Her head kind of bobbed from side to side. "Thing of it is, all the money I've got in the world is kind of... stolen."

"Oh... yes, I guess it would be."

"Should I give it back?" she said suddenly, dropping the Brillo pad into the water. "But I don't even remember where it all came from - oh, what a mess! Maybe if I drop it off at the precinct, they can figure-"

"Please don't," I snickered. "The gesture would be nice, but Daddy's got enough to deal with even without trying to return... how much loot?"

"Four point seven million."

The small kitchen was very, very quiet. My toast fell out of my hand at some point, but who knows when? The sheer size of it... "H-how much?"

"Almost five mil," she repeated with a heavy sigh. "Babsy, I... how can I keep it? I'd never know what to do with all that money, and- and it's not really even mine! What's a newly-reformed girl to do?"

"O-okay," I sputtered, trying to wrap my poor brain around this problem. "Just... we'll get this. My God, _five million dollars?!_"

"It's not liquid," she continued, now pacing nervously. I guess she hadn't thought about this in-depth before. "Not much of it, anyway. It's in jewelry, or modern art - Puddin' loved those kind of sculptures, said they were almost as screwy as he was."

"Then... then here's what we'll do," I sighed, running my crumb-coated hands through my hair. "There is such a thing as the statute of limitations, right? So... so keep the money."

"_What?!_" she gasped. Her head began to shake slowly. "No, but- Babs, you can't mean it, that's- that's criminal talk!"

"No, listen; I think it's only fair you give back everything that's not cash, like the jewels... but if you don't remember where the money came from-"

Harley's face was a mask of sheer disbelief. "I must have wax in my ears, because I can't be hearing Barbara Gordon telling me not to turn in all the dough from a lifetime of bank heists and pickpocketing for... gosh, at least ten, twelve years? That's insanity!"

"What else can you do? Even if you do surrender it to the police, they'll never be able to figure out where every single one of those bills came from - and when they don't, it'll just be funneled into the government's bulging pockets. But I'm sure there's a few museums who would be more than happy to get their masterpieces back." As I watched her becoming slowly disillusioned, I said, "Please don't misunderstand me; I'm not saying anything you did to get that money was okay, but you are trying to start over, right? You need a little something to get you on your way."

"But... how am I supposed to start my new, upstanding life if I'm using blood money?"

This really felt like one of those moral dilemma quizzes you had to answer while playing a party game in youth group. I hadn't been to church in years, but I'm sure if I went back that very Sunday, I'd hear a question just like that one - and everybody would be staring at me like Harley was, as if I were speaking heresy. "You've already paid for it with blood. Yours, the Joker's... it's enough. Just promise me you won't waste it."

"No," she whispered. "I c-can't. Somebody has to-"

She stopped when I sighed again. "Then donate it to Salvation Army, or something. But you need to keep enough back to live on for a while... maybe buy a house? A job's not gonna land right in your lap, you know."

Finally, she seemed to be coming around, but when she spoke, I saw I was mistaken. "This is a trick, isn't it? Yeah, a game - no, no, a test! That's what it is, right? Trying to see if I'm really a brand new person? Well, you can put your pencils away, class, because I'm going to get an A on this!"

"Harl-"

"I'm going down to empty Mister J's safe right now," she said firmly, standing up and pounding one fist into the other palm. "The commish will have a big mess to return, but I'm sure he can do it!"

"Harley, please," I pleaded. "You at least need to get some new clothes, and if you don't use that dirty money, I'll end up paying for all that, and I really can't afford it right now! So for the sake of both our sanity, you have to at least hold on to a few thousand, okay? I'm begging you to see reason!"

The blonde stopped with her hand on the doorknob. "What?"

"I said I'm beg-"

"You were gonna... no, Babs. I owe you plenty already; I was never gonna ask you to front me a new wardrobe!" A moment's hesitation. "So... I guess I'll have to keep some of the dough. Is this really okay?"

"Not at all, but... well, what choice do we have?"

"No trick?"

I grinned in spite of myself. "No, we're not trying to get you to hang yourself. But if you steal any more money, I'm turning you in - you know that, right?"

"Absolutely! What kind of maroon do you take me for?"

. . ᴥ . .

My mind underwent a brief short circuit when Harley and I entered the old Joker vault, which was tucked safely beneath a factory that once manufactured whoopee cushions (shock and awe). When I say "vault", in this instance I mean the basement. All of it. Filled to the brim with bouillon, greenbacks, diamonds and pearls, marble statues, antique cars... and, for some reason, rubber chickens. Everywhere, rubber chickens.

"The gold goes back, too," she grunted, trying to pull a mink scarf from under a stack of ingots. To be honest, I think Harley's estimate of its contents were outdated; it had to have been worth as much as a billion dollars. But all she wanted to do was get rid of it. "Even if I still knew anybody who could melt it down and sell it off- though come to think of it, I probably do. I wonder if old Stinky Hands MacDougal still runs the Meat District like-"

"No, Harley," I sighed. "Sever all those contacts. That's not how you start fresh."

"Right, right." She glanced over at me from the corner of her eye. "Do you... d'you want this scarf, maybe? Only I owe you my friggin' life and all, so if you wanted it, I'd-"

Did I want to _flaunt _that I was breaking a dozen laws right now? "Thanks, but I'll pass. Besides, it's a stolen stole."

"You're right! Damn, I keep forgetting this is all hot merchandise." She stood up straight. "Uhh... how do we get it all to the police again?"

"We're not going to. That's what these duffel bags are for; we're just going to put the money in my trunk, then call Daddy to tell him where to look for the rest. Makes more sense than the other way around."

"Oh, then this won't take long at all!" she giggled, leaning against a rusty old suit of armour. "Most of the cash is in a numbered Swiss account; only a couple thousand bills are floating around here."

"Are you serious?" A few of the bags slipped from my fingers. "We could have skipped this step completely!"

Her blonde head nodded as she brought over a few fistfuls. "Probably, but... well, this'll work for food and clothes money, won't it?"

"Yeah. All right, let's do it, then."

The rest of the day was pretty much us at the mall; her, having a blast, and me trying to keep us from blowing it all in one store. Though I did my best to guide her to more sensible selections, it was mostly futile; bright reds, pinks and yellows filled her bags, in flashy patterns, not to mention the pair of Jimmy Choos she splurged on. At least she tried to behave herself, but it was like the apes imitating man: close, but...

"Ooh, Orange Julius! C'mon, let's get some!"

"Harley, I'm tired," I gusted. "Can't we sit down for a minute? I haven't done this much shopping in one go for-"

"We can sit down with our Orange Julius," she insisted. "Please?"

Of course, I wasn't going to win that one, so once we had our delicious frozen treats in hand, my feet got a well-deserved rest. To be honest, the smoothie was pretty good, too. "Damn... how many stores did we just hit?"

"Not enough," she giggled. "I mean, I know I gotta save my pennies from now on and find a real job and everything, but... I've never had so much fun!"

"I'm surprised I didn't max out my Visa," I groaned, looking into my own bags. Harley frowned.

"Geez Louise, I told you I'd pay for that stuff - why'd you have to go and-"

"No," I said firmly. "I don't need a sugar mama; I'm perfectly capable of paying for these myself."

That blissfully vacant face of hers took on a thoughtful look. "Yeah, what _do _you do for a living? Didn't figure swingin' from tall buildings pays the rent."

"No, it doesn't," I laughed. "But Bruce helps out in small ways, when I need it; if he paid for everything, I'd start looking like his 'kept girl', which is the _last _insinuation we need. But when I'm not finishing my law degree or breaking the law in order to uphold it, I'm... temping at a library."

"Library? Really?"

"Yes, Gotham Public. Why?"

"You don't strike me as the librarian type," she said, throwing one of her legs over an empty seat. "Well, no, maybe... okay, yeah."

My arms folded of their own accord. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, come on, Babsy; there's got to be about a hundred bookshelves in your living room! Besides, you ain't been having any fun here all day."

"I only have one booksh- What? Yes, I have. Lots of fun."

That condescending smile was about to get her punched in the arm. "Really? All you did was grouse the whole time, and you wouldn't even try on that frilly number I found that would be _perfect _on you! Only a dyed-in-the-wool bookworm-"

"I don't have the money," I insisted. "Maybe if-"

"I'd have paid for it," she reminded me. "Why can't I throw my best gal pal a favour?"

Seriously, I paused in mid-syllable. It sounded something like "Tha...". Obvious as it may be, I honestly was not expecting to suddenly trip over the fact that Harley thought I was her friend. And for that matter, was I? All the things I'd been doing for her since she asked me to appear at her hearing pointed to it. It was one thing when I believed I was doing this because I thought she was trying to change, but some of this stuff had nothing to do with rehabilitation. Orange Julius? Talking about whether or not I'm the librarian type? It hit me with an accompanying wave of nausea.

"Babs? You okay? You're lookin' kinda green."

"Yeah," I muttered, not sure I should say anything. That could blow up into a horrible situation very quickly. "I... I don't think this is sitting right with me. I'm gonna get some water."

"Oh, alrighty - I'll be here!"

I took one long look at the concern in her blue eyes. Was it genuine? She'd been acting more and more like she could ask for no better friend than I since I found her in the Arkham basement, and here I wasn't even sure I liked her. As one of the local vendors gave me a cup of icewater for the low price of ten cents, I turned to watch her for a moment. She wasn't staring at me, but observing the other shoppers walking by, talking, laughing, holding hands. I really had no idea what could be bumping around in that little head of hers.

"Back," I said simply.

"Any better?"

"Yeah, tons. Ready to go?"

"Sure. Just let me go to one last-"

"Harley!"

"Aw, c'mon, Babs, don't be a wet blanket! Thongs For All Occasions is having a fifteen-per-cent-off sale!"

. . ᴥ . .

"So, how have you been holding up?"

_This _question. I'd seen it coming a mile away, but I was no more ready to answer for it. "Fair. You?"

"You know what I mean. How are you and the... houseguest getting along?"

"Good," I replied shortly, returning my attention to the large pile of batarangs I was sharpening. It was busywork, which I welcomed.

"Barbara."

"She's a little angel," I glowed, flashing him a wide, cheesy smile. "I had never dreamed that in the four corners of the globe, a girl such as this should grace my presence. Harley Quinn, thou art perfection."

That heavy jaw of his scrunched up his lips. "Hmmh."

"What do you want me to say? That she put acid in my bathwater? That she tried to kidnap me, or hit me with a giant mallet? Bruce, the worst thing she's done all week is burn breakfast."

"You spend an awful lot of time defending yourself," he said, eyes hovering above a microscope now. "And her."

"Then tell me what you want me to say. Really tell me this time. She's doing fine."

"I'm more concerned about you, Barbara. Are you sure she's reformed, or do you mostly want to believe she could have?"

I dropped the batarang. How dare he? "You think I'm projecting all this, is that it? That I'm only seeing a decent human being because I want to? Well, let me tell you, I'm not even sure I like her, so it's as much a surprise to me as it is to you that Harley hasn't gone right back to cleaning out safety deposit boxes and diamond exchanges."

I saw him nod imperceptibly. This wasn't the end of the conversation; he was doing what he always did. Gathering data. "I wish you wouldn't do that."

He feigned innocense. "Do what?"

"Shrink me. Treat me like one of our 'cases'."

"Who said I was-"

"Bruce!"

Silence fell again. Neither of us spoke for a long moment, and in that time, Alfred came down the stairs, tray laden down with steaming cups of hot tea. This discussion would have to wait.

"Tea, Miss Gordon?"

"Thank you, Alfred."

"Tea, Master Bruce?"

"No thanks... maybe later."

"Of course."

He paused by the stairs. Y'know, I always got this sneaking suspicion that Alfred had Wayne Manor wired from top to bottom, and today was not his day to prove me wrong. "Sir... if I may be so bold?"

I thought I actually saw him roll his eyes, but Batman didn't do that. "Why not?"

"Miss Gordon's young charge... she has given you a great deal of strife in the past, has she not?"

"She has."

"However, it can also be said that you enjoyed your own battle with the forces of darkness," he continued, setting the tray down on a nearby table, straightening his tie as he spoke. "One must not forget the path that lay between the newly-orphaned Bruce and the cowl-clad Batman."

He narrowed his eyes at the elderly butler. "Yes, but I never committed grand larceny."

"Of course not, sir, perish the thought. But you HAVE known what it's like to be infatuated with a psychopath - and a story like that seldom ends as well as Miss Quinzel's."

The flare of irrational jealousy was nothing but old news to me, but I still wished I could stamp it out completely. Why, of all the women in the world, had Batman fallen for Catwoman? No matter how ancient that history was, it always conjured up the same annoyance, the same utter confusion. Selena Kyle was the only one who could ever penetrate his stony defences and find his heart buried somewhere in the basement of his soul. I'd never so much as scratched the surface. But again, that was also ancient history.

"Barbara... there's nothing left of that one, now."

"Oh." I held up the tiny nub of batarang and laughed. "Maybe I should pay more attention. Sorry."

Again, he looked like he was analyzing me. "Are you sure you're up for this? Maybe you sh-"

"I'm fine, Bruce. Stop mothering." One eyebrow raised, and I crossed my arms. "Totally fine."

. . ᴥ . .

On occasion, I can be wrong. Those occasions are usually unpleasant.

"Easy does it," Bruce grunted, setting me down gingerly on the operating table he and Alfred used when absolutely necessary. "Let's have a look at it."

"_AGH!_" I shouted, echoing through the cave and causing the bats hanging from the stalactites to flutter restlessly. He was trying to slide my boot off, but it felt like he was taking the foot with it. "Dammit, Bruce, it feels like it's going to fall off!"

"Yep," he gusted. When he swept his cowl back, I saw his brow was creased. "Broken."

My eyes welled with tears. "Shit."

"What were you thinking out there?" His voice did not rise. Did it ever? "Those men all had guns and blunt weapons - the six you were angling for had to have three per cent body fat at most. We should have attacked from a distance, then in the confusion-"

"I never thought they would notice me before I- _ouch,_ stop it!"

"Sorry," he said as Alfred came running over (well, as close to running as Alfred ever did). "Just... trying to assess the damage."

"Good heavens! Miss Gordon, whatever did you-"

"Broke my stupid ankle, okay?!" I snapped. "Because I wasn't- wasn't thinking straight! Careless, _all night _I've been careless like that, and I could have gotten us _both _killed!"

"Calm down," said Bruce. "It's not as bad as all that. Seems like a fairly clean break."

"But Bruce, I- I'll be out of commission for weeks!"

He smiled that snarky smile of his, and I might have slapped it off if I wasn't reeling in pain. It was all I could do to follow the conversation. "It isn't as if I'm inexperienced working alone."

"No, you can't!" I sobbed. Did I have to start crying? It made me look pathetic, but the pain was going to make me pass out soon. "There's no reason for you to do that! Nightwing, call him back to Gotham and he'll-"

"No, he won't," he said gruffly. "Dick has his hands full elsewhere."

"But it's just for-"

"_No,_ Barbara. Now... Alfred, I think Batgirl could use a sedative."

The butler bowed slightly. "Of course, right away, sir."

I watched as Bruce gingerly moved my injured foot around. It shouldn't have been pointing the way it was pointing, and the pain was nearly blinding me. Could I flex my toes? It hurt way too much to try - and I couldn't look anymore, so I instead moved my eyes toward the stairs, where I saw...

"Harley?!"

"Omi_GOD!_" she shouted after a moment, jumping the last few steps and running toward the Batcave's mini-hospital. "Babs, what's goin' on, what happened?"

"Nothing much," I mumbled.

"How did you get in here?" said Bruce, with more than a little frost.

"Through the clock," she informed him innocently, gawking openly at my leg. "I was just thinkin' I... but holy Häagen-Dazs, whadja _do?!_"

"Don't worry about it," I said through my teeth as Alfred rejoined us, eyeing Harley with his passive brand of curious suspicion. "Just... Harley, what are you doing here?"

"N-never mind that." I think we all saw her try to hide a shopping bag behind her back. "I'll show myself out; you look like ya don't need me hangin' around."

"It's okay, you're not- um, I'll talk to you later."

"What's in the bag, Harley?" Bruce asked. I'd known he would ask, but I still wished he'd exersized a sliver of tact.

"Nothin' important," she said quietly, eyes still on my ankle. "Just some junk."

Bruce smiled ruefully. "You'll forgive me if I don't take your word for it."

"What? Oh... oh!" From where I was sitting - or dying - she looked honestly embarrassed that she didn't get the hint before now. "It's not a bomb or nothin' - here, see for yourself."

While Alfred applied the sedative, I was vaguely aware of Bruce pawing through the contents, then stepping back, evidently satisfied that she wasn't trying to blow us all to kingdom come. I know he was asking her to leave again, and I caught some of the words, but they all began to blur together...

. . ᴥ . .

Everything was dark and quiet. My eyes fluttered, trying to adjust to the darkness. A cast was tightly bound around my ankle. I couldn't move it, not that I wanted to. The fine linens draped over me told me I'd been moved as far as upstairs; Bruce hadn't wanted to try getting me home just yet.

When I tried to sit up, I found something heavy in my lap.

"Harley?!" I gasped, glancing around. Hadn't she gone home? Must not have, because her head was snoring quietly against my thighs. I twitched them again, and her head bobbed, but she didn't wake.

"She's proved impossible to stir," said Alfred as entered, a glass of water balanced in the center of his tray. "Many attempts have been made."

"Her head's kind of heavy, too," I croaked. How did he know I was awake and that I'd be thirsty? Damn, but if I had his powers of perception...

"How are you feeling, Miss Gordon?"

"Okay." I downed half the glass in one go. "Better than I was, I guess. How does it look?"

"Bruce asked that I pass these along when you awoke." X-rays. I couldn't see them in the low light at all. "And perhaps you could use...?"

He was now handing me a flashlight. I smiled. "Always one step ahead, huh?"

"It is a manservant's duty to be," he replied mildly. With that, he bowed himself out of my room.

"Thanks," I called after him before turning my attention to the dark sheets in my hands. It snapped, all right - not the worst fate in the world, but no break was a good one in my book. I'd be laid up for a while.

I tried to go back to sleep, but it took me a long time - especially with a big blonde kitten snoring all over me. It was sweet in its own warped, slightly-disturbing way. I felt like the girl whose neighbours ask her to petsit for them before secretly moving to another country.

. . ᴥ . .

Two days and several hours later found me sitting in one of Wayne Manor's many parlours, sipping a cup of strong tea and listening to Bruce's rundown of the night's escapades. Even if I couldn't really do anything, I didn't want to be left out of the loop.

"...seven crates of illegal narcotics," he was saying. "Your father was more than happy to take those off their hands."

"So, these Martellis... you're going after them tonight?"

"The police won't stand a chance; nobody trying to barge in the front door would. It would either take an undercover operative, or-"

"Or Batman," I finished for him in a monotone. He gave me a wry smile in return. "I'd wish you good luck, but then you always say-"

"We make our own luck."

"-that."

"I appreciate it all the same," he said, standing.

It was no use; I tried to hold back, to let it drop, but this was too important to table. "Bruce..."

He paused halfway across the room. "No."

"Damn you, Bruce, not everything's about pride! You need to admit to yourself just this once that you could use some backup! Can't you wait?"

"There are no Robins left," he said quietly. "You're in no condition to drive the Batmobile, much less fight - and no, I can't wait for your bones to knit. It really is up to me this time, pride or no pride."

"I can't believe you're this hard-headed! We have got to-"

"What's all the ruckus?"

We both glanced at each other briefly as Harley looked between us, quite obviously nervous. I let the sentence die, and he didn't pick up the slack. An uncomfortable silence stretched into oblivion before Bruce switched gears. "Harley."

"Y-yeah?"

"Commissioner Gordon mentioned something to me last night: he received an anonymous tip that led him to something of a treasure trove beneath a crumbling factory. Things they had suspected the Joker of stealing once upon a time."

"You don't say!" she laughed - much louder than necessary.

"He appreciates the action... and I applaud it."

Her cheeks flushed crimson. "Sounds like some ex-con out there is trying to do right these days."

"I suppose."

Bruce was almost to the door when it finally hit me. I was really batting a thousand, wasn't I? "Wow!"

"What?" they both said.

"Harley!"

Harley said "What?" again, but Bruce's eyebrows drew together. He was about to get extremely angry, but I wasn't going to let that stop me.

END SESSION


	5. Vagrant To Vigilante

Session Five: Vagrant To Vigilante

"No, Barbara."

"She could-"

"_No,_ Barbara."

"Don't be a grumpypants," I snapped. "It's the only possible solution!"

"_NO,_ Barbara."

"We're about the same size," I continued blithely, turning back to glance down Harley's frame. She was decked out in white flare hip-huggers and a neon green tankini, so this wasn't exactly hard to do. "No alterations necessary, y'know?"

"_NO, BARBARA._"

"Ummm," she began, biting her lip. "What's...?"

"You need backup." I was beginning to get as angry as he was. "Gotham City won't be any safer if you're dead."

"I need backup I can count on," he said pointedly. "Just anybody off the street-"

"Don't even pull that card. Just anybody? She already knows _everything-_ she's in amazing shape, and she's almost kicked both our asses on at least a dozen occasions!"

"_Almost._" Way to focus on the downside, Mr Pessimist. "If I needed a center fielder for a neighbourhood game of softball, she would be a very good candidate, but this is no game. The Martellis shoot to kill."

"Oh my God..."

She had finally gleaned enough from our exclusive conversation to guess why we were debating over her. Her hand was over her mouth, and her blue eyes looked like they might fall out of the wide sockets. "Me, a caped crusader? I mean... I'd be glad to pitch in any way I can, but I'da never thought-"

"Save the sentiments," Bruce cut in. "Admirable though your intentions may be, it's not as simple as signing up and paying your club dues."

"Wh-wha-?"

"Don't mind him," I soothed, though I was seething. "He doesn't think too well with his head up his guano-chute."

That was worth it just to see the eyebrow hike an inch.

"Babs, thanks, but... but you don't have to." She shuffled her feet nervously. "You got no reason to trust a psycho looney like me."

"It's not about that!" I growled. "I don't like the idea of you trying to be a hero right after Arkham released you, either, but there's no time to sit around, crying about how inconvenient this is! We need four or five able-bodied instruments of justice going in there, but we've only got two, so we'll have to make do with that!"

Bruce laughed humourlessly. "Instruments of justice, eh?"

"If... if you need me, I'd be honoured," she said, her voice a little higher than usual. I wouldn't want to be in her spot, either. "But somehow, I don't think Brucey sees it the same way."

We all looked at each other. I think we were waiting for one of us to come up with more to say, but there wasn't really anything. Eventually, Bruce shook his head slightly and left the room.

"Babs, you shouldn'a done that," she whispered, sliding into the chair next to me. "He doesn't even like me as a person - I'm sure he'll like me even less now! I'm no Robin, he'll never go for it!"

"It's not about what we want," I gasped, trying to stand up. The pain was incredible, and I sat back down. "I get why he's hesitating, and there's about a dozen good reasons, but... but the problem is, he thinks he can do this by himself, when he can't! If anybody on the planet could, it'd be him, but... even The Batman has limitations."

"But I can't _make _him take me along," she laughed weakly. "Am I supposed to stow away in the Batmobile? He'd smoosh me into a squishy paste!"

"I know, I know." Harley's hands were slipping under my arms to help me to my feet, and I grabbed for the crutches. "But... but this is how it has to go down. If his ears are clogged, we'll just have to stop talking about it and do something."

The only time I'd seen Harley Quinn looking more frightened than she did at that moment was when I had her by the ruff, dangling above the precipice that nearly ended her short, demented life. She'd asked before if she could join Team Bat, and I knew she meant it, but I don't think it had ever hit her quite so hard that Bruce would never accept her - and now that she understood that she was afraid to overstate her case, much less outright defy our fearless leader.

"Well," she sighed at last, "it's your call, toots."

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

Spandex is no fun. Did you know that? As much freedom of movement as it allows you, it's very uncomfortable in a bunch of ways you never dreamed of. So why do so many superheroes and supervillains wear this stuff, you may ask? The answer is... how should I know?

Everything felt off. The boots were heavier. The hat wasn't heavy enough, but the wig was itchy. And boy, you'd never know those capes weigh so much! What are they _made _out of?! The only part I really liked was the utility belt; that's really handy! Too bad I kept forgetting which pocket had what...

The Batmobile was parked two blocks away. Bats himself had been leaping from rooftop to rooftop, and was now poised on top of the Martellis' base of operations. It was property near the waterfront, where they could keep an eye on the docks. Smart, right?

I took a moment to check the pockets again as Batman stared down through the skylight. Batarangs there, right? And the Batrope must be over here. Yep! The third pocket I checked had a bunch of round things I really didn't remember seeing before; what did they do? Smoke bombs?

When I looked up again, Batman was gone. Inside already? I thought he was more the type to carefully form a plan of attack first. Either way, it was showtime; I stood up, flexing my fingers.

"And where do you think you're going?"

Crapola. I turned, smiling innocently. "Nice night, ain't it?"

"Harley-"

"Blame Babs!" I blurted before I'd thought it through. "I- uh, I mean, it was her idea, but I wanted to help, honest, and we are the same size and all-"

"Save it," Bruce sighed, turning to glance at the building again. "Just... stay here. This shouldn't take long."

"No, wait!" I grabbed his arm, then realised that was not wise and let go. "Um... I kinda promised I'd go in."

"Don't make me tie you up; that would be a waste of time and Batrope."

"I scoped out the situation, and... and there's at least twenty thugs in there, maybe thirty, all packing heat." Maybe if I sounded capable enough, he'd rethink things. "You can't take them _all _down without bein' turned into Swiss cheese!"

"Watch me."

"I've been playin' the part of second banana ever since college," I continued indignantly. "It's probably the only thing I can still put on my résumé. I got you covered." He squinted at me menacingly; probably still thinking about tying me up. "Babs made me promise; you really wanna make a liar out of me?"

Five seconds. Ten seconds. He hadn't moved a muscle, and I had to fight down the urge to break camp and retreat from his frigid glare. It was about twelve seconds when he said, "Get in my way, and it's your funeral."

The window was wired to trip an alarm, but it didn't take Batsy long to pull that apart. Directly below us, Antonio Martelli was hunched over a fine oak desk, counting the biggest pile of Benjamins I'd seen since Mister J and I knocked over Gotham First National. Is it bad to admit a small part of me still wished Mister J was looking down with me, and that we were about to steal all that cash together? Oh, well - que sera sera. Two goons stood on either side of him; the one in the white fedora was cleaning his piece with tender love and care. It was right about then it occurred to me that I could've used a little more Speed Stick... and perhaps a more absorbent pad.

"Ready?" he asked.

"No."

"I'm not surprised. On three."

"O-okie-dokie."

He frowned. Maybe I shouldn't have used that particular phrase. "One... two..."

I gulped, unbuttoning the batarang pocket.

Three never came - he just jumped through the skylight. Glass shattered, falling into the eyes of the goons, and the Dark Knight swooped down on them, taking out the one with the gun out first. He never got to squeeze off a single round before he was drooling on the floor.

"The Bat!" Martelli bellowed, reaching under his desk, but Batman already had him by the collar. "Urgh!"

"Playtime is over, Tony. Put away the toys."

The other thug's hand was plunging into his jacket. Should I make a move - did old Batsy have it covered? Biting my lip, I threw a batarang at his head.

"_AAAAARGH!_"

Criminy, I didn't mean to take his ear off! As he whirled, clutching the side of his bloody head, Tony Martelli suddenly smashed into him, causing them both to end up in a pile by the wall.

"Sorry," I said as I landed deftly next to them. Batman shook his head slightly, and I felt like an idiot. "He was gonna-"

"I know. Let's go, there's more of them."

From that point on, I spent less time throwing funky metal things and concentrated on what I did best; gymnastics. It had been a real love of mine up through junior high, y'know. Anyway, the cape threw me off balance now and then, but mostly I stayed out of the line of fire and let the mob shoot itself, or else beat itself in the face. Presenting a target and removing it at just the right instant works more often than you'd think! Bats was, of course, Bats - a symphony of destruction, needing only minimal effort to bring down his opponents. Why couldn't I get my mojo working like that? Oh, well.

It was over in about twenty minutes. I underestimated; there were almost forty flunkies besides Martelli himself. Now they were all tied up and gagged - except Martelli himself, who was left able to speak.

"Your reign of terror ends now," said Bruce, his tone all dark and spooky.

"P-please, don't kill me," he croaked, legs flailing helplessly. "I can cut you in, I've got money, lots of money, it's enough to-"

"Money can't buy everything," he countered. "Most importantly, not me. The police will be here soon enough, and then you're their problem."

"But I got information! The other syndicates, the Wakizashis, the Shcherbakovs, I know how they operate!"

"So do I. It will be their turn soon enough. You worry about whether or not your cell has a window."

He turned to leave, and I took that as my cue. As we left the man huddled in the center of his now-destroyed office, he cried, "Wait! Don't leave me here, I can help you! Come on!"

Once we were outside, I breathed a deep sigh of relief. "Jesus Christ Superstar, that was something else! I've never taken on so many schmucks at one time!"

"Mm."

"Are... are you still mad? You probably didn't even need me, but I did my best, so I hope-"

"Forget it. You did fine."

Back up that choo-choo! "I- I did?"

He turned to look at me as police sirens began to sound in the distance. "I do have one question... where did you get that auburn wig?"

My cheeks were burning, I'm sure. "Bought it this afternoon. I figured they'd know something wasn't kosher if they saw a blonde Batgirl."

Somehow, without really trying, I made Batman crack a smile.

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

The mothers out there probably know this feeling well; sending your children off to their first day of kindergarten, knowing that they'll probably be just fine. But what if they're not? What if they don't get along with the other kids, or what if they won't eat what the school serves for lunch? What if you haven't taught them enough at home and they turn out to be developmentally behind their classmates?

That's what this was like, except I was also worried Harley would get herself killed - or get Bruce killed.

My heart leapt into my throat when I heard the pneumatic sounds of the secret Batcave entrance opening and the accompanying squeal of tires. They were back. Alfred had told me over and over to go back upstairs, to not hobble around the cave waiting on pins and needles, but how could I? Harley could hold her own, yeah, but she was still green at fighting more than three opponents at a time! The car stopped, and before the platform rotated to face it back toward the entrance again, the top opened.

"_WHOOHOO!_" Harley shouted, jumping out and landing with grace. She was still laughing as she did a few handsprings, then swept the cowl and wig back to reveal two tight blonde buns and a glowing smile. "That kitten _purrs _while it _burns!_ A girl could really go for a man who drives a set of wheels like that!"

Bruce's expression spoke of severe annoyance as he exited the Batmobile. I was about to get an earful.

"Babs! Babsy, you shoulda seen me!" Before I could stop her, I was suffocating under her embrace. "I was good, and I helped! Finally, I did some honest work for a change!"

"I'm, uh, glad?"

She drew back, still beaming from ear to ear. "The costume is yours again, but I think I did okay - I mean, I didn't get anybody killed and we got the bad guys, right? Holy mackerel, I'm pumped!"

Laughing, I glanced at Bruce again, eyebrows raised. He nodded grudgingly; she really didn't foul everything up. I knew she most likely provided a distraction for most of the thugs while the Batman took them down two by two, but either way she did her part for justice. It was gratifying.

"Both of you have some apologising to do," he grunted.

"You know I'm not sorry," I replied quickly. "I told you all along I wanted you to take her with you, and I was right, wasn't I?"

"There was no reason for her to come along. I've faced far worse than a third-rate don like Martelli."

"Not by yourself, and not in a long time! Better safe than sorry, right?"

"C'mon, you two," Harley put in before Bruce could reply. "D-don't make such a stink, okay? I'll hang up the cape, I promise, so... so we don't have to argue over it!"

My nerves jarred. I'd hoped to put this topic off a little longer... "No, Harley, I'm sorry. You can't hang it up - not until I'm better."

"Oh, yes she can," said Bruce, glaring at me. If I weren't a girl and the commissioner's daughter, he might have strangled me for how obstinate I was being. "And she will. Much though I appreciate what she tried to do, tonight was _not _an aptitude test."

"My ankle is destroyed! You can't do it all by yourself, not everything; you're going to need backup, even if only for the worst of it. Like it or not, she's a part of this now."

"Uhm..." Harley was backing toward the glass case where my spare costume normally hung. "I appreciate the thumbs up, Barbarino, but maybe this ain't such a hot notion. You guys don't need a blonde like me whose greatest combat skill is dumb luck!"

"Luck is half the battle," I muttered.

"But it ain't enough!" she whined. Did she have to make this more difficult for me? "I really do wanna pay you back, 'cause it's pretty much my only goal nowadays, but this is such a-"

"You _don't have to pay me back!_" I shouted. "God, I- I can't stand thinking about how I almost let you die, and you keep thanking me! _CUT IT OUT!_" When Harley didn't respond (because she was too busy looking like a scolded puppy), I continued. "Do it because you think it's right and necessary, not because of some life debt I don't deserve."

As Harley stared forlornly at the ground, Bruce dropped his voice, leaning in so she couldn't hear. "You know my reasons are sound. The fact that she was released from Arkham is a near miracle in and of itself, and her heart seems to be in the right place, but can you blame me for not wanting my arch-foe's right-hand jester as the next Robin?"

I forced myself to swallow, trying to let my sudden flare of anger at Harley dissipate before continuing the subject at hand. "You act like I don't understand what I'm proposing, Bruce. I know she used to be part of the rogue's gallery. She might still be, but- but either way, she knows too much! Personally, I believe she really is a good person who fell in with bad people, but if I'm wrong, and we give her reason to believe we're not her friends-"

"Oh, I am aware. It's been impossible to forget what she remembers." He finally pulled his cowl back and swept a hand through his thick, black hair. "Was it too much to hope she would simply reintegrate into society? What's wrong with being an average citizen?"

"It's not easy to go from supervillain to supermarket cashier," I quipped.

Harley was hovering at the bottom of the stairs. The costume had been put away, and she looked pitiful in her pigtails and tankini, twisting her hands together and biting her lip. When we turned in her direction, she seemed to be fighting the impulse to run away.

"Come over here."

Did he have to be so gruff? She shuffled closer, bracing for impact.

"You've got a long road of work ahead of you if you want to be Robin The Fourth. If you can't hack it, I won't hesitate to-"

"What? I- come again?!"

"Congratulations," I said, trying not to smile too widely. "You're in."

First, she seemed confused. Then, she slowly turned to look at Bruce, eyes shining. "Y... ya mean it? I'm good enough to-"

"Adequate," he insisted. "I'll reserve 'good' for when you can throw a batarang without lopping off someone's ear."

Before I could stop her, her legs were wrapped around his waist and she was crying, squealing and laughing into his ear. "Oh, thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou _THANK YOU!_ You'll see, I'll do right by you, I'll be a good little Batgirl!"

"And that's another thing," he growled, peeling her from his torso and setting her down. "While you are no stranger to close combat, you did a poor job as Barbara's stand-in; eventually, the more discerning criminal element will notice the difference in your fighting styles."

"Those goons at the docks didn't notice," she giggled. "They ran from me like I was really Babs!"

"That was one relatively short confrontation. In the long run-"

"Then let her make up her own secret identity," I put in, impatient with Bruce's criticisms. "If you don't like her as Batgirl, she can be... Batlady!"

"'Batlady'?" She folded her arms to her chest. "Hmm... sounds too comical, like somethin' out of an old slapstick movie from the Sixties. How about Batwing?"

"Too close to 'Nightwing'," I countered. "But I get what you mean; maybe along the-"

"When you ladies are through," Bruce grunted, "you'll let me know what you've decided to do with _my _resources, won't you?"

"Sorry, Boss," Harley laughed nervously. "Guess we should let you handle this part, huh?"

"A lark," I said quietly. When they both looked over at me, I continued, "Ah, well, I was just thinking about other kinds of birds and flying things, and how she used to work for the Joker, and-"

"And 'lark' is not only a type of bird, but also another word for a joke," Bruce sighed. "That's almost painful, Barbara."

Harley nodded, staring at the floor. "Yeah, and... and I dunno if I should pick a moniker based on my past like that. I thought I was tryin' to get away from all that dark comedy stuff, wasn't I?"

"Mabye so, Harl, but... well, without your past, what would your future look like?" I smiled at her reassuringly. "Besides... you do have a comedic sense all your own; it's just less sadistic these days."

The Batcave was silent for a moment. Then a voice spoke up that said, "Lark seems no less sound than Robin, I should say. It suits her." Having put his two cents in, Alfred returned to his duties throughout the rest of the manor.

"We'll come back to the name, anyway," said Bruce. "For now, I'd rather concentrate on putting you through my training program. That should be enough to tell me whether or not you're capable of handling this - both physically..."

That was so sharp that it hurt to hear it; I could see Bruce wince once he'd said it, and you could almost hear the sound of Harley deflating. After a moment, she shrugged. "Um... I know I used to be crazy, but-"

"Don't," I said quickly. "No point in going there."

"But you gotta underst-"

"That's enough for the night," Bruce put in brusquely, trying his best to diffuse a situation he created. I had to give him points for effort. "We should all... get some rest."

I hobbled out of there first. No matter how calmly that conversation had ended, I wasn't about to let Harley leave me alone with Bruce after the way I'd just circumvented his authority.

. . ᴥ . .

"Babs! Babs, wait up!"

It took twelve seconds; two to flick the "unlock" button on the door panel of my car, and ten more for her to open the door, slide into the passenger's seat, and close it again.

"Thanks," she panted, leaning back into the seat as I drove off, raindrops being driven from my windshield by the wipers. "I'd rather not wait for the bus in this mess."

"Yeah, I almost didn't see you." That wasn't entirely honest; I had seen her, but after the uneasiness we'd all felt within the Cave, I wasn't sure I wanted to find myself trapped in a car with her on the long drive into town. In the end, however, I decided it was too wet to be so callous toward the newest member of Team Bat.

While we were waiting for the front gates of Wayne Manor to swing open, she coughed and said, "Are you okay to drive? I mean, with your ankle and all."

I nodded. "It's the left ankle, remember?"

"That's right." The gates swung open, and as I pulled onto the lonely, winding lane, she said, "You know, I-"

"Harley, don't."

I could feel her blinking at me, even though I was focused on driving. "Don't what? How do-"

"You were going to thank me for sticking up for you in front of Bruce. Let's not confuse the matter; I think we need you. That doesn't mean you're the most ideal candidate for America's Next Top Sidekick, okay?"

She blinked at me again. "Okay. Actually, I was gonna say some Chinese sounds good right about now, but... that's nice to know."

We rode on in silence for a bit. After the third or fourth red light, she suddenly burst out, "Don'cha think I can handle myself?"

"Huh?"

"Both of you think I'm just some ditzy, bumbling airhead," she pouted. "And Bruce puts it out there, a lot, but... if you agree with him, you could at least say so. Don't lie just to make me feel better."

"I don't think that's all there is to you." The slight half-truth was worth a shot.

She frowned at me. "You think life with the Joker didn't make cop-outs like that really obvious? C'mon, Babs, give it to me straight. I'm a big girl."

What irony. I took a deep, agonising breath. Ever since she helped Tim come back to his senses, I'd felt like I should be as nice to her as possible; like she needed it, because there was this brand new spark of goodness burning so brightly in her heart that it was worth it to try not to blow the pilot light out. Now she was asking for a giant bucket of ice-cold water.

"Harley, I think you're incredibly bright. I also think you're an, um... exuberant, lively young woman, and you've got a good sense of humour. Obviously you're agile enough to perform those unnatural acrobatics you always did, and I'd kill to have your body."

"This old thing?" she laughed modestly, glancing down into her lap. "I've had it for ages. But Babs, you're no slouch yourself, y'know - don't act like guys ain't always staring at your-"

"But..." She quieted. "But you're also so naïve that you... fail to grasp certain things, are easily misled. That's how you ended up on Joker's arm in the first place. It's not that you're stupid, because you're not! You j-just need to grow up a little."

Way to go, Barbara. Nice round of puppy-kicking. If I had a big, wooden club in my trunk, I might have driven off to the Gotham Zoo and hunted down some baby seals...

"Yeah."

"What?" I spared a glance at her, but she was looking out her window at the sparse trees. "What do you mean, 'yeah'?"

"It comes with the hair," she laughed, pointing to her head. "Blondes have more fun, but they also get used, don't they?"

"I- I don't-"

"No, don't apologise. And don't change your mind or anything - I don't want nothin' but the truth. I wouldn'a asked otherwise."

I focused on driving for a few moments. Mud being kicked up from the tires of the semi ahead of me splashed all over my windshield, and in that unsettling moment, I felt like I couldn't see anything - it did nothing to quell my feelings of isolation. Bruce probably wouldn't be speaking to me for a few days, and now I felt like Harley was being guarded with me, trying not to hurt my feelings just because I hurt hers. And didn't I have anyone else? No. Tim, maybe; I should drop in on him sometime soon...

Why was I stressing this? There's nothing wrong with being alone. So what if I was slowly growing into the librarian stereotype I was so sure I didn't fit?

"_LOOK OUT!_"

Then the wiper blade had removed the muddy water, and I could see that while the truck had cleared the red light, I was not going to be so lucky. I skidded to a stop just a foot over the line, tires smoking.

"Whoa, Babsy!" Harley shouted, one hand white-knuckling on my arm. "Give a girl a heart attack, willya?!"

"I-I'm sorry," I choked out, panting heavily and watching the Mustang careen through the intersection, passing through a spot I could have easily been occupying if the wipers had been a little slower. "I- God, I can't believe we almost-"

"Geesh, now I wish I'd brought a change of underwear! That was pretty-"

"I'm so sorry, Harley, I- I almost got you killed, I never- never wanted-" I struggled to come up with something to say next, but before I could, Harley was holding either side of my face firmly.

"Don't beat yourself up over it, okay? It's comin' down in sheets out here, anybody would have trouble seeing!"

"But I'm so wrapped up in my own stupid head, and Bruce is pissed at me, and I'm telling you everything that's wrong with you like I don't have a textbook full of problems myself, and- and I just can't deal with it, and it almost got us both smeared across the pavement!"

"You stopped in time!" she soothed, looking distinctly frightened at my attitude. "We're both still tickin' - what else do ya need?"

Crying. Now I was crying, because this all wasn't pathetic enough. "I need... I need not to feel like an island! I need my life to get a whole lot easier - like, to go out on the weekends, to have drinks with a few friends, like a normal twenty-something! I need to- I need-"

"You need to... not be Batgirl?"

Funny, but I could feel how right she was, even though it wasn't where I was going with that. Being a dark avenger of the night did tend to put a damper on one's social life. She'd bypassed all the whiny bull and cut straight to the heart of the matter. "Kind of already on hiatus, but... but I don't think I could quit. It's so important, what we're doing..."

"But if it's wearing you out, shouldn't ya find a more healthy way to save the world?"

"Like how?"

She shrugged, wiping a tear away with her thumb. "You're askin' _me?_ I was kinda evil last year."

I laughed wetly, and she dropped her hands, smiling in relief; guess she figured the crisis was over. "Sorry to dump on you like that... I don't know what my deal is."

"It's the broken bones talking. When you're all healed up and you can get out there in the cape again, ya won't feel so weird. You'll see - I got faith in you."

That's when I felt the shift.

As I watched Harley's sparkling blue eyes, her warm, sincere smile, it finally became clear that I didn't "sort of tolerate" Harley at all - I liked to put it that way, but it was never like that. What had Bruce said, about me only wanting to see good where there might not be any? He had it backwards; I'd been too busy making a big deal out of her new lease on life to clearly see the pure heart that had been there all along, shining brighter than that of any so-called reformed criminal. We were all lucky she came back from the Joker's clutches with such a positive state of mind! And, for no other reason than because I was there for her that one time, she latched onto me... and now our destinies seemed to be hopelessly intertwined. My reality shifted, and I now saw that Harley Quinn accidentally _had _become my best friend.

Talk about a shock to the system.

"Babs?"

"Wh... wha?"

"Um-"

_HONK!_

The light had been green for a while, I'm sure - the SUV behind us brought me back to my senses, and I drove off. "Heh... oops again. I suck."

"Everybody has an off-day."

Harley had returned the favour; we had saved each other's lives, now. Quite a difference those twelve seconds made.

END SESSION

* * *

Nothing? Come, then - any thoughts? Any at all? How's my driving? Reviews and emails keep me from overindulging in caffeine and/or nicotine - they're a much better high.


	6. Larks And Lifelines

Session Six: Larks And Lifelines

Months passed. Every day, Bruce and I watched our fledgling become more and more sure of herself; her natural speed and agility honed to precision, and her aim with the batrope and batarangs came to be dead on. That isn't to say she didn't continue to make mistakes - and trust me, she did - but the more practise she had, the less frequent they became. The only persistent problem: she couldn't seem to remember where everything was in the utility belt. Batarangs, batrope, and smoke bombs she had down, but she mixed up all the other pockets. Baby steps, right?

For as long as she was "apprenticing", the head Bat decided she should wear a very simple ninja outfit; something that didn't betray any sort of insignia or affiliation. Perhaps this was in case she made some kind of fatal faux pas, and we didn't want to be connected with her. Cold, but understandable. Also, until she came up with a permanent secret identity (or in some way proved herself unworthy of being a Gotham Knight), it made no sense to stick her in Robin's old costume, in case she disgraced it.

Really, when you write all this stuff down, it makes us sound very elitist, but we have to be elite; not everyone's cut out to be ever-vigilant guardians of the moonlit streets of Gotham. Even Bruce questioned it of himself occasionally, but in the end the need for a hero not bound by the law outweighed his doubts.

My ankle was feeling better every day, and I got back in the gym as soon as it was medically sane to do so. A lot of the stunts that had been effortless before were suddenly a strain, and I found that retraining my body only seemed to make me feel old. How could I feel _old? _Bruce did this every night - did he ever feel that way? He was a decade older than me, at least...

Somehow, I should have expected Harley to try her best to help me re-straddle the horse. In the week leading up to me reentering the gym, she constantly told me not to push to get back in the game, to make absolutely sure I was ready, but once I made the decision, it was like having a live-in personal trainer. It didn't take very long for that to get on my nerves, but she meant well, and it did help to a certain degree.

And on that front... even though I had sworn I'd make her move out as soon as humanly possible, cleaning up the crime in Gotham City took so much of our time that she never seemed to get around to house-hunting... and I didn't have the time or energy to remind her very often. Real estate ads from the Gotham Daily Planet were all over the apartment, and there were a few circles (in bright pink ink), but nothing ever came of it. We settled into a bizarre sort of Odd Couple-ish living situation, with me picking up after her more than I cared to. Given her disorganised former-criminal mind, I'd sort of expected her to be difficult to live with, but Harley was a total slob! Empty soda cans and candy wrappers, pizza boxes, wet towels... they were all over the place. And every time I would clean up the apartment, within a day it would go back to being a pigsty. It was astounding.

Her clothes always ended up in the strangest places, too - once I found three blouses in the oven. When I asked her how they got there, she scratched her little blonde head and said, "Oh... I dunno! Maybe I was making camisole casserole?" Funny, but still bothersome.

Then, right around the time I had decided I was ready to return to the front lines, the Batcave experienced yet another intense, drama-filled episode. It wasn't pretty, but let's transcribe it, anyway.

. . ᴥ . .

"Don't pull your punches!"

"I'm not," Harley pouted, rubbing her elbow. "You move around too much."

"Remember, your enemy won't be standing still, waiting for you to take them out of the fight." Bruce resumed his battle stance. "Always assume your opponent is one step ahead of you, and therefore you have to be two steps ahead of them."

She cracked a smile; I thought that was pretty ballsy of her. "I never learned any two-step, but the fox trot and me are old frien-"

"Harley, focus! How will I ever be able to trust you to handle a night watch solo if you leave yourself open so much?"

I could see the colour drain from her face. "Solo?"

"Solo," I concurred. "That's the whole reason Batman decided to take in a ward or two; it's easier to cover a city's worth of misdeeds when you divide it into thirds."

"Oy," she gusted, mopping her brow with a towel. "This whole schpiel looked a lot funner in the brochure."

"Ahem."

The three of us turned to see Alfred in the door of Bruce's underground dojo, fist lowering from his mouth after clearing his throat. "Yes, Alfred?" Bruce asked.

"You have a... visitor."

Really, I should have seen this whole thing coming, but it was still jarring to walk out into the chill of the cave and see Tim Drake standing by a lab table, examining his tennis shoes. He looked up as we approached, and I suddenly felt anxious when I noticed his eyes lock onto Harley.

"Tim?" Bruce asked. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said, still watching Harley. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed she was looking anywhere else. "What, can't I drop in now and then for a visit? I used to work here, y'know."

"We know," I said quietly. The tension was growing, and I tried to think of a way to break it. "Um... so what's new?"

"Something's new, that's for sure. Didn't think you'd replace me so fast."

Bruce took a step forward. "Nobody's replacing you, Tim."

"Then what's _she _doing here?" he growled, abandoning his semi-casual act. "Training with The Batman? Since when is that part of the rehab program? I can't believe you even let her down here!"

"It's not like she didn't already know where it is," I said.

"And how did she find out? Do you remember that?"

A migraine began threatening to pound behind my temples. "I thought you said her bringing you back from the madness more or less made amends."

"_NOTHING _could make amends!" he shouted, pounding the table. "Helping Bruce out with the formula basically made me not want to see her dead anymore - but you've got her down here, practicing her Kung Fu like she belongs! Dead or alive, she's _still _Joker's girl!"

"Tim, that's not fair," said Bruce firmly, even though I knew he sympathised with Tim's mindset. "Everyone deserves a second chance."

"She deserves to be in prison!"

I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and began fresh. "Tim, we needed someone to sub for me while my ankle was broken. Of _course _Harley wasn't the first person on the list, but with-"

"Why was she on the list _at all?!_ Even if some quack says she's all better, that doesn't mean you can trust her to dispense justice - you can't even trust _me _to do it anymore, and I've been doing this since I can remember!"

"Don't talk as if you came out of the womb holding a batarang," said Bruce. "We all had to begin somewhere, myself included. This is a less-than-ideal situation, but we make do with what-"

"Oh, screw this!" he shouted, turning and stomping toward the stairs. "And screw you - _all _of you!"

"Timothy!" gasped Alfred, having more or less relegated himself to look on silently until that outburst.

"Call me when you wake up and see you're dressing a wolf in bat's clothing!"

Bruce sighed, shaking his head. My feet carried me after Tim automatically, but a hand stopped me.

"Let 'im go."

My eyebrows arched. "Harley, he's being a-"

"Let 'im go," she repeated, eyes downcast. "He's peeved. I wouldn't be thrilled to walk down here and see me, either."

That's when it hit me that she'd been standing there, listening to everyone discuss her as if she weren't in the room, letting Tim insult her over and over, and somehow hadn't said anything. "Harley, those things he- they're-"

"Absolutely true," she said quickly, a goofy grin plastered across her face. "Every last one of 'em. Kid's got a sharp tongue on him, that's for sure, but... it's not like he was lyin'."

"Let's get back to your workout," said Bruce stubbornly, his face a more opaque mask than the one attached to his costume. "Judo next - your throwing could use some work."

She pouted. "Can't I just throw in the towel for now and come back to Judo tomorrow? I'm sore all over!"

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

I am definitely one of those girls who thinks Epsom salts are for old geezers with broken hips, but that night... hoo boy, they were my new best friend. In fact, I probably put three times more than necessary in the tub, but Babs said I could use as much as I wanted, and everything hurt. A capful of Mr Bubble for whimsy, and I settled in for a good long soak.

The steam built into a fog inside my head, and there I was punting along inside a sea of thought, letting it all roll by without a care in the world. My mother's face, all those pearly white teeth... a party in yearbook club my Junior year of high school, when Bobber McKenzie tried to kiss me and ended up with punch all over his shirt... what I had for lunch yesterday...

Mister J. I couldn't escape him; his thoughts invaded every corner of my mind, all times of the day, and it was impossible to drive him out - only relegate him to the back for a while. His maniacal laughter, his sexy green hair... his popping eyes, alight with laughter even when nothing was funny. He did look like a circus freak, but life was a circus - he was just its ringleader. But now it was leaderless - **_I_** was leaderless. Why did I have to be such a lost little lamb, pathetic and scared? I was a college graduate, with a PhD in psychology, and yet all I wanted to do was cling to the tails of his purple coat. Every day, I felt the shame. How the mighty have fallen.

A flicker. I opened my eyes and focused on the lamp built into the ceiling; the bulb needed to be replaced. As I stared at it, steam hovering all around my head, I let myself slowly sink down into the water...

Alone. Life was for living, and I revelled in it, but no one else wanted me around - and as much as there was to see and experience, who could I share it with now? Barbara Gordon had shown me an impossible amount of compassion, and I knew that would've ran out a long time ago if she didn't genuinely care about me, but that only went so far. I knew she more or less hated me, everybody does. I don't blame them, either. Who really wants to put up with a ditzy ex-henchperson?

Joker wasn't coming back. Ever. All my new "friends" saw me as a means to an end, a stand-in for the Robin that I helped destroy. I liked them, but I couldn't help but feel I was mostly in their way. Just like I was usually in Mister J's way.

Bubbles rose from my nostrils, and all at once I wanted to stay under, to be safe beneath the veil of water and stop myself from making anybody have to worry about what to do with that stupid blonde bimbo again.

_"Gasp!"_

Nah. Couldn't do it. I owed Barbara my life; she couldn't cash in on that if I took it myself. She had to be my reason for living - if not forever, then until I found another. At the very least, I would try to help Babs and Brucey fight for justice while I figured it out - or until they point-blank told me to quit the team.

Either way, my fingertips were turning all pruney. Time to get out.

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

My panties were riding up. Maybe you didn't want to know that, but they were; seems like it happens whenever I go too long without wearing the Batgirl costume. Up they go, disturbing my comfort level. I frowned.

"Something wrong?" Batman asked, breath fogging on the February air.

"Nothing," I whispered. My underwear were the last thing I wanted to discuss at that moment.

"Nervous about being back on the job?" asked Harley. "Don't worry, I got yer back."

I snorted. "Thanks, but this is one problem I must face alone."

She looked at me quizzically, but Bruce waved us silent. "Here they come."

The three of us crouched in the fire escape, squinting down into the alley as headlights approached. A fender of the sedan knocked a garbage can over, spilling banana peels and stale sandwiches all over the alley; a cat wailed and darted out of sight. Eventually, the twin beams outlined a solitary figure holding some sort of briefcase. Upon further inspection, he was adjusting his tie nervously.

"What a rookie," said Harley under her breath. "Did he really come alone?"

"They told him to, I'm sure." A batarang was already in hand. "Ready, boss?"

His hand came up again. "Wait. They're going to bring the hostage out of the car - let's get a clearer view of the situation."

As we looked on, the solitary man began to sweat profusely, and exchanged words with a man wearing an expensive black trenchcoat and puffing a cigar. His hair was in a rat tail - no, seriously. Harley looked like she was noticing the same thing, because she stifled a giggle. Bruce frowned deeply at her, and she kind of shrank in size.

"Look," I whispered. "Here they go."

The kidnappee was a girl of about twelve; short red hair, freckle-faced, t-shirt sporting the face of some tweeny-bopper singing sensation... blindfolded, bound, gagged, earplugs. Instantly, the man was more on edge than ever; he started to rush forward, but the glint of metal in the hands of at least four of the other men stopped him short - including the one clutching the hostage's upper arm. The man with the cigar laughed, reaching out for the briefcase.

"Now."

My aim was true; the gun pointed at the girl's face was now inside a dumpster far behind them. That was something I'd never lose, no matter how many months I spent on the sidelines.

Several people screamed. Harley and I were on either side of the monolith with the hostage, and as I pulled her back and out of harm's way, Harley tripped him up, grinning the whole time. This must be fun for her; engaging in a healthy, family activity with the Bat clan. That weirded me out a little.

"You've extorted the wealthy families of Gotham long enough, Eastlake."

"Batman! Jesus Christ, don't you ever stop breathing?!"

Shots fired. Now the police would be coming; we had to wrap this up quick. I could see the same thought running behind Harley's blue eyes, but she only took a moment to get a breath before turning to throw a batarang at another thug, glancing bloodlessly off his shoe while causing him to plunge face-first onto the pavement. He moaned, rolling onto his side.

"Rope," I shouted at her. I knew she wouldn't like that, being handed the bottom-rung job of tying up the crooks, but somebody had to do it. Meanwhile, Batman was taking care of the last two goons - including the rat-tail guy - at the same time. Time to take a moment to assess damage; I was finally getting around to our victim's earplugs. "Are you okay?"

"Omigod," the girl sobbed, staring up at me through misty eyes. "Is- is this really happening? B-B-Batgirl is saving me?!"

"Real enough," I said with a reassuring smile. That's one smile I've had too much practise with. Too many hostages, too many moment-too-lates. At least this wasn't one of the latter.

When I scanned the scene again, I saw all the men on the ground, most of them tied by Harley's nimble fingers. The man with the briefcase was clutching a wound in his leg.

"Thank you so much," he grunted, trying to push himself to a standing position. "I- I had no idea they'd have guns, I- what was I getting myself into? Thank you, all of you, I-"

"Enough." Batman glanced between them, and I'm sure nobody but me noticed his eyebrow raise. "Your daughter?"

"Yes; she'd been missing for days! I- I had to get the money together, even though-"

"He's lying!" the girl suddenly screamed. "I- who is this guy?! He's not my dad!"

The alley was silent for a moment, save for the girl's crying. Then the man laughed giddily. "Poor girl, going through so much, doesn't know what she's saying! Come on, Lily, don't be so-"

"My name isn't Lily!" she cried. "I- I've never even seen him before, what's he talking about?!"

Harley was looking between them. "Y'know, I gotta admit, I don't see any resemblance."

"She's adopted," the man gusted, but I noticed he was sweating even more than when the cigar smoker was talking to him. "I'm afraid to admit that she's never truly been at home with us."

"_LIAR!_" she screamed, now nearing hysterics. "I've _never _been adopted - both my parents are just fine, and I- I'm supposed to be at Judy's house right now, studying for a Math test, I was just walking to Judy's! Who are you, what do you want?!"

"Good questions," said Bruce, kicking Cigar Boy over. "Expanding our business, are we, Eastlake? Human commodities?"

"_Ew,_" I spat involuntarily, tightening my hold on the girl's arm.

"Don't know what you're talking about," Eastlake grunted, spitting blood onto his own silk shirt.

"What?" the poor, unwitting victim squeaked, flinching from my grip as I rummaged in one of my utility pockets. "What's g-going on?"

"Let's see if they're in the system, Batman."

"Good idea." Bruce pulled the sweaty man to his feet roughly by his collar, thrusting his thumb onto a small pad attached to one of our many devices. I did the same to the girl, though more gently. "Hmm, let's see - Ira Rothman, 27385 Clapham Road. Divorced. No children. Well, none that are legally his, I suppose."

"Amelia McIntosh, 836 Norse Court. Daughter of Christopher and Maria... same address." We had dispensed justice in spades, but I wasn't smiling. This was too twisted to be happy about. "Right."

"God," Amelia whispered, staring at her would-be abductor again through her tears. "Wh-what was he-"

"Better not think about it," I said under my breath.

"Stupid bats," the man grumbled, though I could tell he was more scared than angry. The sirens were a long way away, but close enough to make him shake like a leaf in the wind. "Can't even do business in this town anymore."

"If this is your business, find a new job," Bruce growled, not bothering to be careful tying him up. "Or get out of my city."

As I stared down at the girl's confused, scared face, watching her braces glisten in the sedan's headlights, I wondered how anybody could have relegated her to a mere product, ripe to be plucked and sold on the black market. Next to the churning in my stomach, my underwear problems were nothing.

. . ᴥ . .

"This is so _AWESOME!_"

Harley chuckled as we whipped around another corner; we both watched as Amelia shouted laughter into the winds blowing past the roof of the Batmobile. How could she not be freezing? She'd been hanging out of the moonroof for miles, and none of us had the heart to pull her back inside. Even Bruce was trying not to smile.

Finally, we rounded the corner and found ourselves on Norse Court, parking in front of a gorgeous three-story brick home, draped lightly with the vestiges of a snowfall from a few days ago, Christmas lights still strung in the leafless trees. All it was missing was the white picket fence. She ducked back in long enough for the top to slide back, and she leapt onto the sidewalk.

"Thanks so much you guys," she whispered, eyes welling up again. "I- I don't even know how long I was gone, I- oh, Batman, Batgirl!"

"That's what we're here for," he said simply.

"And you- whatever your name is, thank you!"

Harley laughed. "I don't get a name tag yet; it's a temp-to-hire thing."

"What?"

"Nevermind," I laughed. "It'll be thanks enough if your parents try not to let you get abducted again."

"I know," she sighed, frowning. "But- but it's not their fault, I thought I was safe - it was just down the block, I go there all the time!"

"No one is ever safe," said Bruce. "Not entirely; you have to do what you can to protect yourself."

"Go on inside," said Harley. "I bet they're waiting."

She thanked us again and ran into her house. As we rolled away silently, I could see two pairs of arms pull her inside, and I smiled to myself. Every once in a great while, this gig is gratifying. I said as much.

"Yes," said Bruce. "One less injustice on the city's conscience."

"Sometimes I wonder if this city has a conscience," I gusted. "Doesn't seem to bother it much."

"A city is only as good as its people, Barbara. People need strong leadership, structure, order; chaos builds on itself, and left unchecked-"

"This has to make at least seventeen times I've heard this speech, Bruce. I did read the Junior Crimefighter Handbook."

His scowl said enough that he needn't add any words. Harley and I giggled.

"So, Bossman," she added, pulling her shinobi hood up to breathe easier, "do I pass yet? Can I start calling myself Batfink?"

"Bat-_fink?_" I asked.

"Spitballing," she muttered.

"Possibly," Bruce grunted as he turned down a side street. "I'm still not sure vigilantism is cut out for you, but so far your mettle is admirable. I must say, I'm pleasantly surprised." When both of us only raised our eyebrows, he went on. "Sorry, but I figured this idea, joining us, was nothing but a passing fancy. You've shown real dedication to this line of work."

"Well, I... I wanna help Babs," she said quietly with a nervous laugh. "She did save my life that one blue moon, right? Besides, the whole supervillain thing didn't work out too well for me, and along the way I ran up a pretty hefty debt to society. Think of this as... settling my tab."

"We all have crosses to bear," I said. "Bruce wanted to make sure what happened to him didn't happen to some other poor ki-"

"Barbara..."

"Don't give her grief," said Harley quickly. "I do know your origin story now, she's not spilling any beans."

He shook his head slightly. "All the same, I'd rather not talk about it if possible."

"Why do _you _do it, though, Babsy? I mean... be Batgirl."

She had me, there; I didn't actually have some great tragic past, no personal vendetta or solemn vow to a dying loved one. "Because... it just felt like the right thing to do. Watching Bruce, what he was accomplishing... I wanted to help him nab the criminals my father couldn't go after because his hands are tied by the law."

Bruce smirked. "And because you thought your costume was really 'cool'."

"Oh, zip it!"

. . ᴥ . .

Over the course of the next week, I got used to being part of a three-man cell again. Actually, calling it a three-_man _anything is inaccurate when two of the members are women, but it takes too long to say two-women-and-one-man-totalling-three-persons cell. Where was I going with this? Let me take that from the top.

Over the course of the next week, I got used to having two partners again. The days during which Tim was struggling with the Joker-induced madness were severely lonely for me (and Bruce, I suspect), and the agonizing period I spent letting my ankle recover was nothing less than a daily frustration. Now, Batman Incorporated was a proud trio again, and though at first neither of us were comfortable with Harley on the team, she only continued to prove herself worthy of a proper cowl - and it was in the wee hours of Saturday morning that Bruce finally decided it was time.

"Harley, come here a moment."

"Great," she sighed, pulling off the ninja hood and setting down the tonfa she had been practising with. "Look, I know I did somethin' dumb, so ya might as well just smack me so I can feel awful, and we can both get back to what we were doing a minute ag-"

"Open it."

Without really looking at her, he gestured to a gift box on the table, then went back to his microscope. I also tried not to glance over from the computer screen I was pretending to find quite fascinating, but anyone watching me more carefully could see me fighting back a snort of laughter.

"Aww, for me?" she cooed as she lifted the lid and began rummaging through the tissue paper. "Gee, you shouldn't have! I mean, it's not even my birthday, but- but... jeepers."

I was actually fairly curious myself to see how this had turned out, so I abandoned all pretense and spun in my seat to see Harley's blue eyes wide, mouth hanging open. She held by the shoulders a suit much like mine, mostly black with a cape, but the yellow insignia on the chest looked more like a giant arrowhead or a "V" than a bat. Also, the underside of the cape was red rather than yellow. As Bruce finally turned around, wearing that small smile he allowed himself on such rare occasions, Harley lifted up the hood, and I laughed as she seemed puzzled by the two red ridged stripes stretching back from the eyeholes.

"No one ever came up with any better idea than a lark," said Bruce, already back at the microscope. "I modeled it after both the meadow and sparrow breeds; hence the streaks of red. A few simple modifications to Barbara's suit, and a new Gotham Knight is born. Alfred seemed to approve."

Slowly, Harley gazed after him, lip trembling, a red glove and a yellow utility belt hanging from each hand. Before I could speak up, she was already flying through the air, legs and arms wide.

"_OOP!"_

"Thankyouthankyouthankyou _THANK YOU!_ Batsy, it's perfect, I can't believe I'm really a superhero!"

"Sidekick," he grunted, once again removing her limbs with great care from around his torso. I'm sure he already loathed being called "Batsy", as well. "Remember, this doesn't mean you're done training - just that you're out of the initial-"

"Oh, give it a rest," I laughed, finally getting up to shake her hand. "Let her enjoy the promotion." Of course, my nearness only presented another target for her to leap on.

"And thank you, too, Babsy! Oh, I never woulda been here if not for you - I'd probably still be rotting in Arkham like some old throw pillow!"

"Yeah, well, you weigh a little bit more than a pillow, Harl," I grunted, staggering backward. "Can you be happy _and _on the ground?"

"Sure, sure," she tittered, hopping down and going back to reexamine her costume. "Wow... so I'm The Lark? Or is it just 'Lark'? I've never had to worry about that kinda thing before, since Harley's my actual name."

"You're asking me?" laughed Bruce. "I'd intended to be 'THE Batman', and the general public decided it took too long to say."

"I have to try this on - now! Hang on, I'll be right back!"

As we watched her run off to the changing room, Bruce sighed. "I still hope I'm doing the right thing."

"You are. I mean, even if she turns evil again and sabotages us from the inside... it will be a complete surprise at this point. She's given us no reason to believe a relapse of Joker-itis is around the corner."

"That's what bothers me," he said, running a hand through his hair. This was a rare instance; Bruce was being up front with me, without the constant "justice for all" slant. "Not one of the so-called 'supervillains' we have faced these many years has ever shown any indication of true reformation. Not even Selena."

"You meant to say Catwoman, didn't you?"

"Yes, Catwoman," he said with a slight chuckle. "My mistake."

My eyes remained narrowed. "Thought so."

He was now picking up the tonfa she had been practising with. "But young Harley, here... she worked alongside the worst of the worst, throughout the greater portion of his career. What universal truth did she rediscover? What gift did she receive that countless others didn't?"

I smiled at him - probably a smug sort of smirk, but it wasn't intentional. "That's any easy one. A lifeline."

"Hm?"

"Bruce, a near-death experience? People being swallowed by the darkness, seeing the hazy outline of an angel come to their rescue? It's been happening forever."

Now he was smiling. "Salvation works, does it?"

"Not always, but... sometimes. Being brought back from the brink gives people a fresh perspective. As far as I can tell, Harley wants to do for others what I did for her - return the favour. That's understandable, isn't it?"

The door slammed open, and our conversation ended. The lingering skepticism in Bruce's deep frown told me I hadn't really won the argument, but only presented an interesting point of view. It was better than nothing.

"_Ooh, _it's friggin' beautiful!" she crowed, doing a cartwheel and a flip on her way over and trying to watch her own cape flutter. "Everything fits so perfect - I just hope I don't gain any weight or it'll blow out like a shook-up can o' Coke!"

"No problems?" asked Bruce.

"Well..." she thought for a moment. "Not really. I was wondering if my hair would be comin' out the back like Babsy's, but there's no opening in the cowl. Kinda cramped in here with me and my goldilocks."

"Actually, there are two holes - you just didn't see them. Here..."

He poked her in the back of the head, and she blinked. "Whoa, what? Why are they so high?"

"Oh!" I giggled, suddenly very amused by this notion. "They're for your usual pigtails. Bruce, you really put some thought into this, didn't you?"

"It took a fall of almost fifty feet to muss those tails last time," he said drily, as if offended by my insinuation that he enjoyed creating these outfits (which I knew very well he did). "Thought you'd want them displayed proudly."

Harley's eyes misted over again, and before one of us had to talk her down from our bodies, I coughed and said, "Time for a lunch break, isn't it? I've had this really persistent craving for a turkey club all day..."

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

_Red and black._

Great. What was the primary colour on this get-up? Freaking scarlet. Seemed I couldn't run away from that hue, even when I switched sides... like blood on my hands. That's what they call 'irony', isn't it? Yeah...

Of course, I couldn't tell either Babs or Brucey that I didn't appreciate it. They wouldn't really get it - and I'm not sure I'd want them to, anyway. Dr Leland might, but it was too petty to bring up with her, either. Still, The Lark just _had _to be red and black. Like checkers. Most larks were yellow, weren't they? I thought so... and there was a little yellow in my costume, to be fair. But too much red, and too much black, and-

I eased off the sofa sleeper and slunk out a sliding glass door onto Barbara's tiny balcony-slash-porch. Ooh, it was kinda chilly tonight... but maybe that was because it was Winter and I was only wearing a shirt. Sometimes real clothes help keep the draft out, I've heard.

Thinking about my new costume had kept me up all night, whether I was excited about it or stressing over what being Gotham Knighted really meant. What was wrong with it? Nothing. What was wrong with me? Gosh, where do we start?

Every minute I was with Mister J - from the time he transformed me into a quivering pile of flesh at his personal disposal, all the way up until we both faced down death in the same hour and I was the only one who lived to tell about it... I was clad in red and black. Red and black, black and red. Rack and bled - there's a lovely spoonerism. Fits too well. Racked up an admirable list of felonies, I'd say. And I made so many bleed...

But I had to let all this go. None of this had _anything _to do with the suit and I knew it, so why was I stressing? It's a weird hangup, and I didn't want to see their eyebrows shoot past their hairline if I were to tell them I had some vague emotional problem with the costume. And I didn't! Maybe it did remind me of the jesteresque leotard I once pranced around in, but only a little - and other than that, I loved it to death. So there wasn't much point in picking nits. Not really.

Red like the blood staining my hands. Black like my prospects. Tiny hints of yellow symbolising the shred of hope I kept alive that I might not end up backsliding into madness.

Maybe this suit _was _me...

END SESSION


	7. Pigtailed Pickpocket

Session Seven: Pigtailed Pickpocket

From the time Harley first put on her own cape and cowl, there was a marked change in her attitude. She'd been gung-ho from the beginning, desperate to prove she was one hundred per cent devoted to our cause now, but when she got her Lark costume, it all but took over. She was a justice-dispensing machine, slinging batarangs almost as well as Tim had once done and displaying Catwoman-like reflexes. Far beyond my expectations and prayers, having her own secret identity separate from us empowered her, added focus and a personal sense of duty that extended beyond simply repaying me for grabbing her ruff in the depths of Arkham's basement. A villain trying to be a heroine? She _was _a heroine, now.

Oddly enough, you'd never know it to talk to her outside of the job; her personality remained as bubbly as ever, complete with tongue-in-cheek wit and typical blondeness. I still continued to find socks in the coffee cups, and another month of nights stretched on with her stretched out on my sofa sleeper, doing her best imitation of a muscle car with no muffler. How could a body completely transform themselves in one aspect of their life and stay exactly the same in all others?

But then I was totally thrown for a loop when I walked in from another day at the library one dreary Tuesday afternoon in March.

"I got it, Babsy, I got it!"

"Got what?" I sighed. Okay, so this was the most unenthusiastic response I could have given her, but I'd been assigned the task of converting the card catalogue of the nonfiction section to digital format. _All of it. _ That's several thousand books that had to be entered into the system one by one. What a pain. And why, might I ask, was our library still catering to the Flintstones?

She hesitated, lowering the sheaf of papers she was holding. "You okay? Ya sound like you forgot your morning mochaccino."

"No, I- oh, it was a long day." No sense dragging anybody else down. "So what did you get?"

"Oh- oh! Yeah, I finally did it - and I'm sorry it took so long, I'm such a dip, but I think you'll be pleased!"

This was already getting old to my fatigued brain. "Yeah? Pleased with what?"

"My apartment!"

My eyes flew open - a statement like that packed ten times the punch of any mochaccino. "_What?!_"

With a grin wide enough to accommodate a foot-long sub (sideways), she brandished a printout of a building exterior. "Ta-daah!"

Looking between it and her skeptically, I snatched it and glanced down the website's description. "Hmm, 'one bedroom with small studio or office, one-and-a-half bath... 760 square feet, laundry room in basement. Full utilities. Two blocks from the subway. Six hundred a-' _SIX HUNDRED A MONTH?!_"

"What?" she asked, her smile faltering the tiniest hair. "Too much?"

"N-no, it's- it's amazing," I gasped, frowning at the floor of my one bedroom, one bathroom flat with a miserable excuse for a balcony that I had foolishly been paying seven hundred a month for - not including electricity. "God, where on earth did you _find _a place like this?!"

"On the net," she said simply, shrugging as she picked up another stack of papers and shook them. "I've been followin' up on a few prospects, but they either looked and smelled like a public toilet, cost an arm and a leg or turned out to be a shoebox. But I finally found a good one, Babsy, this is it!"

There were at least forty sheets in her hand. She'd been working on this - and diligently. "Uh... wow, Harley, I- I'm happy for you."

She frowned. "Then why do you sound like I just cancelled Christmas?"

"Huh? Oh, no, I- I just didn't think you'd ever find a place," I laughed, trying to shake off the shock. "I mean, you've been here how many months?"

"I dunno... five, six? Maybe not that many..."

I tried to flick her on the forehead - something I'd taken to doing when I thought she was playing dumb on purpose. She, of course, dodged with a slight laugh. "Yes, that many. I don't know, I guess I just got so used to you living here I forgot you'd be moving out eventually."

"Yeah, the good times are over, I guess, ain't they?"

"Yeah." What? What was wrong? Something was weird, but this was all very good and productive, wasn't it? Probably just tired. "Well, when do you move in?"

"Oh, not until April First," she said sheepishly, looking slightly away. "The landlord still has to clean up after the bum who wasn't paying his rent. Which reminds me... I think I need a day job."

"I suppose you do - I mean, all that leftover loot is probably running out by now, isn't it?"

"Well... not so much," she giggled. "I've been trying to keep my spending down since I got it. Still, I'm sure I've only got a few months' rent saved up."

Some weird hybrid of a frown and a smile played at my lips. "How much?"

"How much what?" She was about to earn another flick.

"How much do you have in that Swiss account?"

A long, tense moment, where she looked between me and the floor several times. "Umm... y'know how when you put money in the bank, it earns... interest?"

"You're filthy stinking rich, aren't you?"

"No, no!" she laughed nervously, backing up a step. "Just... comfortable. But I've been tryin' not to touch it, I'm still iffy about keeping it. I was talking about the local dough."

"A job, huh... I saw a sign across from the library; there's a pizza place that needs a waitress."

"Hmm," she said thoughtfully. "Okay, that's a start. Can ya get me an app?"

We spent the rest of the night eating leftover Chinese, kicking around employment prospects and having too much fun coming up with ideas for decorating Harley's soon-to-be-home. Finally, around eleven, I decided to turn in so I wouldn't die from sleep deprivation at work the following morning.

. . ᴥ . .

Or so I thought.

"What is it, Bruce?" I rasped into my cell.

"A pawn shop in your neck of the woods," he said. "17th and Marshall. Silent alarm. The police won't get there for another fifteen minutes - perhaps twenty."

Damn. "On my way."

As I ran through the living room half-dressed and desperately trying to shake the vestiges of sleep, Harley was already sitting up and rubbing the crud out of her eyes. "Whazzat, hng?"

"Burglary. Nothing major, go back to sleep."

"No, I'm coming with you," she said dazedly, staggering to her feet and reaching behind her pillow and past the mattress to yank out her spare costume. "Just gimme two sec-"

"I can't wait for you," I sighed, pulling the second boot on. "Fourteen minutes until the cops show up."

"No, wait, watch - I've been workin' on this-"

And before I could protest, she was already down to her polka-dot panties. I clapped a hand over my eyes. "_WHOA!_ Harley, dammit, I don't have time for a peep show!"

"Hang on!" With speed that I couldn't help but admire, the blonde seemed to jump into her spandex, and as I opened the door to the balcony and glanced up and down the street for anyone watching, I could hear her struggling to yank her pigtails through the holes in the cowl (this was always accompanied by several yelps of pain). "Th-there, I'm ready! Let's bounce!"

It only took us three minutes to silently pick our way along the silent street, turn a corner and spot the broken glass. There were thugs inside, all right - I could see three from the street level. A getaway car was idling on the other side of the street, the nervous driver glancing inside the store far too often to appear remotely inconspicuous. Harley knocked him out without making a sound as I watched the perpetrators toss anything that looked valuable into huge burlap bags.

"How old school," Harley whispered as she joined me. "So... should I go around back, or-"

"I have neither the time nor energy for this." Without hesitating, I took out a few sleeping gas capsules and tossed them inside. "Let's go."

"But-"

"C'mon!"

We scaled the side of the neighbouring building and watched as a cloud of bluish smoke curled from the shattered window. About twenty seconds later, one of the crooks staggered outside, waving his hands in front of his face, then slumped to the ground on the sidewalk, still.

"Well, can't argue with that," said Harley, arms crossed.

"Let's go tie their hands, just in case."

Once the deed was done, the both of us were leaping from roof to roof, already inside my apartment when I heard the police cruisers draw near.

"Whew!" said Harley, unbuckling her utility belt. "That was cake!"

"God, I hate nights like these," I sighed, ripping my cowl off. "Like the day wasn't long enough, I have to break up kids in a candy store."

"Um, Babs..."

"When am I supposed to sleep? When I'm dead? Might be sooner than predicted if I can't rest like a-"

"_Barbara!_"

"_What?!_"

When I turned to Harley, I saw "what": she was holding what looked like a very expensive ruby brooch, and the expression on her unmasked face was nothing less than terrified.

"Where'd you get that?"

"I- I dunno," she whispered, gloved hands beginning to shake. "Did... did I take it from the pawn shop?"

"Did you- _you're_ asking _me _to tell _you _if _you _took something?!"

"I don't know!" After a brief moment, tears began sliding down her face. "Th-this can't be real - touch it, is it real?"

I took the brooch from her hands, a sense of welling dread bubbling up from the pit of my stomach. It was at least eighteen karat gold, and the ruby was the size of a walnut. Worth several hundred dollars, easily. "Sheez..."

"B-but I didn't- I- I never-"

"Harley," I sighed weakly, "I'm very tired. It's a measly brooch. We'll drop it off at the police station tomorrow or something. I'm going to bed."

"No," she pleaded desperately, planting herself firmly in my way. "No, y-you have to hear me out, I never took nothin'!"

We were going to talk about it for a minute, I guess. "Yeah, nothing - like that entire warehouse of nothing my father has to sort out, right?"

"I didn't kipe _any _of it," she insisted, eyebrows knitting. Maybe I meant for that remark to sting, and I guess I got what I wanted, but I found no pleasure at the bottom of that bitter cup. "Mister J was all about that stuff, and I thought it was a thrill to do it with him, sure, but I never really stole nothin' for myself, not once!"

"Fine, whatever. Just... let me go to bed."

"C'mon," she whispered, smiling at me in an extremely frightening manner; I thought she was going to start twitching any second. "You gotta believe me, I'm not trying t-to put one over on you, I really didn't take it!"

"Bed."

"Look at me, willya?!"

"_Bed._"

Five seconds passed. Finally, she stepped out of my way, and I slunk away to my bedroom, but just before I closed the door I heard her say, "Red... again, red."

By the time I climbed out of the Batgirl suit and back into bed, I was wide awake. What was going on? Did I really want to know? Perhaps there were a few lingering issues her psychiatrist had overlooked, like unconscious kleptomania. Then again, she could be trying to juggle her newfound crimefighting career with the crime she's supposed to be fighting.

Then _again,_ why would she have exposed herself to me? I hadn't noticed her take the jewelry, she would have got away with it free and clear. Could you really steal things without realising it? Or... no. No, I didn't want to go there, it was too dark, too unsettling - especially with her living one room away.

Harley Quinn, Harleen Quinzel, Lark... was it simply three names for one woman, or three women in one body? Split personalities - it wasn't unheard of. Two-Face, anyone? Would one of her dormant souls awaken in the night and stab me to death?

. . ᴥ . .

Ten minutes passed, and I did not sleep. Twenty. Thirty. Over an hour later, I finally got up and tiptoed into the kitchen, but when I came back out, I heard a voice whisper, "Babs?"

I turned to see the whites of her eyes in the middle of the dark living room. When I turned on the hall light, I saw the sofa sleeper was folded out and she was wearing fuzzy pink pyjamas, but she was sitting Indian-style atop the sheets, apparently wide awake as me. She was staring straight ahead at my plasma screen, but it wasn't on.

"Just getting a glass of water," I said. "Goodnight, Harley."

"Am... am I still crazy?"

There was something about the plaintive squeak in her voice, the way she was begging me to answer her question. My brain continued to will my feet toward my bedroom, but they instead turned toward Harley.

"I don't know, are you?"

"B-Babs," she choked, and I could now see her face shining with tears. She must have been crying nonstop, and more importantly, she sounded like she was trying her damndest not to lose her grip completely. "I can't go back to Arkham, I- I can't do it. I d-don't want to be a crazy, I don't wanna steal anything, I w-wanna be good now!"

"I know," I whispered as I sunk down on the bed next to her, still feeling my way around this.

"I don't know where this brooch came from," she hissed. "But I- I don't even want it, I don't even _like _it! I think it's- it's hideous!"

When I looked into her hands, I saw the brooch's pin had stuck into her fingers several times as she turned it over and over. Tiny drips of blood stood out and ran down them, leaving small, circular stains on the topsheet.

"Harley, stop!" I gasped, snatching it away (and sticking myself in the process - perfect). "Y-you're bleeding!"

"I know," she sobbed. "I know, I know, and I k-kept thinkin' I should get up and get a Band-Aid, b-but- but what if I came back, and the brooch had disappeared? What is friggin' _wrong _with me, what am I _doing?!_"

This was getting to be too much for this poor librarian. I wasn't at all qualified to babysit an ex-mental patient, much less give her any advice whatsoever. For the first time in a long while, I couldn't trust my instincts because they were telling me to do different things; call her psychiatrist, call the police... call Bruce. Do nothing, as I tried to do before, but then I had to get up for a pointless glass of water just so I could distract myself from-

"Babs?"

I wished she wouldn't keep looking at me, as if I was on top of this one. "Y-yeah?"

"Babsy, you... you think I did it, don't you?"

As I looked at the blossoming hurt in her blue eyes, I felt a sort of semi-painful _CRACK _- like someone had shot me up with an elephant tranquilizer, then pried open my chest with rib-spreaders. I could already sense tears on my own cheeks, already knew what I was going to do, but I struggled to remain objective, I had to! This girl was insane, she had to be to steal a pointless bauble and forget she did it, or to go to these lengths to feign ignorance! I was setting myself up to be murdered in my sleep!

"No," I whispered, biting into my bottom lip so hard, trying to regain ground. I had to keep speaking, but every word became harder and harder to complete. "No, I don't think you did, but I don't know what to think, either."

"M-m... I didn't," she insisted again, staring into nothing and seemingly talking to herself more and more. "There's no way, I- I'm a good girl now, I didn't even see it before I got here, and- but then, where'd it come from? Sounds like somethin' Mister J would do... yeah, like he'd plan this out, like a game, a fun game, and just see where it-"

"Harley!"

Her blonde head jerked up. "Huh?"

I can't believe I had to do this. "Harley, Mister J- I mean, The Joker, he's dead! The Joker is _dead,_ do you hear me?"

"Yeah," she choked out, nails digging into her knees. "But... but he ain't never really left me. I can't keep him out, not every last iota. He keeps hangin' around, like a stray..." Her breath was coming faster and faster, and I was fighting the urge to run from the room. "And it's red and black, red and black all over again, and Mister J won't get outta my head, and the superhero gig ain't a picnic, either, but it's all I got that makes any sense, that feels right! Wh-why's somebody trying to take it away from me, am- am I sabotaging myself, tryin' to get revenge on my good half for leaving Mister J behind?! I- I had to, he left me when he let himself get iced by little Timmy, and little Timmy wants to see me in traction, and n-now I'm all alone, and some days I feel like I shoulda died when I fell down that hole in the floo-"

"_NO!_"

Maybe twenty or thirty seconds passed before I noticed a wetness running down my back. What did I just do? Only after that did my mind clear, and I saw I had lunged at Harley and engaged her in an awkward deathgrip of a hug that probably hurt, but I didn't care. Shaking like a leaf, I let my own tears douse her neck in turn and whispered, "Don't... ever think that. Don't _ever _think you should have died. I didn't bust my hump taking you to the hospital for nothing."

She felt quite rigid, like she wanted to explode on me but couldn't let herself. "Barbie girl, I- I know you only did what you did b-because it's your job. Given the choice, you'd never of saved some evil blonde bimbo... especially not me. Geez, you must hate me."

"I don't, though. Even if I did, I'm fairly sure I let all that go when you helped Tim get the medicine he needed." Somehow, as I spoke the words I knew they weren't accurate. I hadn't meant to give voice to anything more, but I couldn't stop myself. "N-no, maybe..."

"Wh-what?"

"Well, I really think it was when you were about to fall." I sniffled, still too afraid to release Harley and let her go back to those half-assed suicidal ramblings. "When I looked into your eyes, and you looked- you looked the same way you did a minute ago, when you thought I didn't believe you, and... and for the first time I thought of you as just another human being. Not Harley-The-Joker's-Flunky-Quinn, not some villain who I had to thwart for truth, justice and apple pie, but... a scared girl who didn't want to end up as a greasy spot. Maybe I didn't think you were a model citizen, but I couldn't hate you after that."

"Oh," she managed. "W-well, as l-long as you d-d-don't hate me. Babsy-"

"But I'll say it again: I'm uncomfortable with you owing me for saving you. I- I don't want us to be like that, with you as my... my indentured servant or whatever, because that's just so last century. So... _if _you did steal the brooch, you can tell me."

"B-"

"And if you _didn't,_ then I believe you," I finished stubbornly. "But I can't stand the thought of you being- I don't know, afraid of talking to me. That's unacceptable."

"But I don't _know _if I took it," she sobbed, hands finally pressing into my back as she let the tears fall in earnest now that I gave her a green light. "And I'm s-so afraid of being crazy again! And honest, I don't remember taking it, but that means if I don't remember taking it, then- then I'm-"

"Don't go there right now. Just don't, okay? I- I want to believe you're cured."

"I ain't, though." What a dismal tone. "You don't get 'cured' from being mentally raped every day for a third of your life by a homicidal fruitcake - God rest his soul."

Maybe it was inappropriate, but I chuckled. "Somehow, I don't think God's the one who ended up with him."

"But I am a smidge better, and- and Dr Leland agreed, she agrees I'm better every week... but now I'm relapsing. What am I gonna do? Sh-should I turn myself in? Probably should, but I dunno if-f I can handle going back, not when I come this far, when I finally have a real friend who doesn't see me as some expendable b-b-bimbette who can do his dirty work and _JESUS CHRIST I HATE THAT MAN!!_"

I pulled back, shocked. Harley's face was contorted in anger, brick red and vibrating, teeth bared. When she had taken several rasping breaths, she blinked and looked up at me, eyes widening. "Wow, I- damn, I can't believe I just combusted like that! Babs, I- I never said that before!"

"Oh," I said simply. Now I was starting to feel scared again.

"I... hate The Joker," she said experimentally. Then she smiled, like her birthday and Christmas were on the same day this year. "I hate his friggin' guts, and I only wish I'd been there to spit in his face before he died! He never did nothin' but drag me down with him, and I'm... I'm _glad _he's out of my life for good!"

"Harley-"

"Jumpin' Jehosephat, Babsy, I- I'm-" Then she faltered, staring down at her bloody hands. "But I'm still nuts, right? I still maybe stole something without realising it. Two steps forward, one step back."

At least I _thought _I was part of this conversation... "What are you talking about?"

"I _HATE _him," she repeated, smiling at me in what I can only describe as a much more healthy manner. "I... as much as I tried to tell myself that, it's never really worked, I always secretly loved the part of him that changed my world forever and- and- but for the first time the puzzle is finished, I get the entire scope of it! What he _actually _did was ruin all prospects of me leading a full and successful career as- oh, as whatever! All that matters is he blew all that to smithereens, and I let him, and now he's Clown-On-A-Stick and I- I'm over him! I think I'm really _over _him!"

This time, she was the one to give me the bone-crusher, and as all the air was squeezed from my lungs, I listened to the musical laughter burst from hers... and smiled. Somehow, this unexplained incident with the jewelry had prompted a breakthrough we all thought she'd already underwent. She may have left Arkham almost six months ago, but only now was Harley free.

. . ᴥ . .

She was the lucky one. Even though I told her I trusted her, that I accepted the "I don't remember" alibi, I found myself unconsciously on guard around her for the next several weeks. And not for nothing; every now and then I would catch her talking to herself, or perhaps writing a single word over and over in a notebook (something really disconnected like "where"). When I delicately asked why she was doing these things, she'd simply reply, "It's for therapy." I found myself wanting to accept that answer, and yet...

Worse than that, I don't think she was blissfully ignorant of this. Once, I asked her where she got a pricey-looking silver bracelet, casual as you please. Her eyes moved between where it lay on my end table, my eyes, and the window. She was still looking out the window when she told me it was an impulse buy at the mall.

Evasive? Yes. Suspicious? Hmm. The thing is, it certainly didn't make her guilty; maybe she forgot she had the bracelet in the living room, hence all the glancing around. Maybe I'd spent so much time fighting the scumbags and charlatans that I was seeing wrongdoing everywhere. She was acting just strange enough to cast a shadow of doubt over her newfound sanity, but not enough to cause any serious alarm. I was making much ado about nothing.

Then, while the three of us were on patrol late one night, there came an incident that was _not _"nothing"... in fact, it was definitely a big, honking _something._

. . ᴥ . .

"Whew!" Harley gasped, dropping a tightly-bound man atop a pile of his accomplices. "That's the last of 'em, I think!"

I smiled. "Working up a sweat, are we?"

"Maybe, a little. Why, is my nose shining?"

"We can't even see your nose," said Bruce with a smirk. He brushed his hands together, then looked around the glinting glass cases of the diamond exchange, only a few of which were hanging open. "That seems to take care of things around here; let's make our exit before the guards come around."

"Wait," whispered Harley. "Do you...?"

"Do we what?" I asked, glancing in her direction. She was looking directly behind her, into the shadows left by a support pillar.

"Nothin'," she replied, turning back with a shrug. "Guess I'm just jumpy."

Before long, we were safely back in the Batcave; our foiling the jewelry heist came on the end of our nightly rounds. My back was killing me, and as always, I felt a slight twinge now and again from the formerly-broken bones in my lower leg. This night, by all rights, _should _have been over.

"I'd like to work on Judo again with you sometime this week," Bruce told Harley as he grabbed some more rope to stash in his utility belt, ever ready for the next battle. "Your throws are still a little... well."

"I know, I know," she pouted, pulling off her cowl. "Whaddaya want, Brucey? I've only been takin' Judo for a few months, and I'm supposed to be a third-degree black b-"

We all stopped when we heard a light sound echo around the depths of the cave. Turning, I saw Harley watch in confusion as something bright and twinkling rained from her hands.

"Belt?"

END SESSION


	8. Auguring And Absence

Session Eight: Auguring And Absence

Diamonds. Dozens, maybe hundreds, all cuts and clarities - they were drifting down from a once-bulging pocket of her utility belt. They skittered across the floor, shining like morning dew in the low light from computer monitors and scattered brackets.

"Hmm," was all Bruce offered. I had more to say.

"Harley."

"I- it- I don't-"

"Harley!"

"I didn't do it!" she gasped, clutching the belt to her chest. "Honest, I swear! Th-this- this is impossible, there's no way I would- there was no time to-"

"Really?" Slowly, Bruce knelt and examined the pile of gemstones. "All different; in fact, this one's a pretty poor specimen. Looks like someone was in a hurry."

I sighed. "I'm sorry, Bruce, I- I should have said something, but-"

"Don't," she breathed, eyes wide. "C-c'mon, I- I didn't do it, I haven't-"

"I think she's been doing this for a while," I gusted. I knew this would be difficult, but I wasn't expecting it to be wrenching my guts apart. "Little stuff, here and there. I just- I don't know, I guess I thought it would go away, or something."

"Babs..." I couldn't look. She sounded like she was crying, but I couldn't look.

"Well, this does present a problem," said Bruce calmly. Even I was having trouble figuring out how upset he was, despite working alongside him for many years. "Obviously, trust is heavily involved in our line of work, and if we aren't able-"

"J-just listen to me for a minute!" she blubbered. "I- I don't remember doing it! Even if I did, I really don't remember doing it!"

"I'm going home," I sighed. "Harley, you'll understand if I ask you to find a hotel tonight?"

"What?! But-"

"Goodnight, Bruce."

I saw him nod wearily, but my own tired eyes scarcely flashed across Harley as I turned and forced myself to abandon this argument, change into my mundane civilian garb and walk up the many, many stairs to the ground floor of Wayne Manor. Was this really about to happen? Was Bruce about to give her the same talk he'd given Tim, that the job was "too much for her" and she was being dishonorably discharged? I was afraid to consider what she was going to do now - she didn't even have any steady source of income. At least she'd be living on her own soon enough, and then...

But this all left a bitter taste in my mouth. I'd been pulling for her, I really had. Why did she have to go and screw everything up, especially in such a petty way? But if it was her psychosis returning, some hidden issue she hadn't quite resolved... maybe it was better that it come out now instead of years down the road, and she could start getting help immediately. Would she tell Dr Leland about this?

"Good evening, Miss Gordon."

I blinked, whirling to find him exiting a hall to my right, dusting cloth in hand. "Oh, hi, Alfred."

"A bad night out, I take it?"

I smiled weakly. "Can we save the small talk for tomorrow? I'm sorry, Alfred, but I'm just-"

"Quite," he said, polite and unoffended as ever. "Do make sure you get some proper rest."

"Thanks. Goodnight."

A bitter wind was blowing through Gotham City as I stepped out into the wee hours of the morning. Damn, but what I wouldn't give for it to all have been a nightmare! Unfortunately, my nightmare was just beginning.

"Babs, wait!"

"Rgh," I grunted, letting go of my Altima's door handle. "Harley, come on, give me a break, here! All I want right now is to go home and go to sl-"

"Babs, you gotta believe me, here!" she said desperately. I avoided meeting her eyes, but I saw a pair of white-and-pink Reeboks coming toward me. A brief glance told me she'd taken off the cape and cowl and thrown her jacket over the upper half of her costume. Would she be allowed to keep it? Probably not. "I don't think I did this!"

"I don't want to examine it tonight."

"But-"

"Harley, look," I said firmly. "If you did it and you're lying to cover it up, then you have no business as a crimefighter. If you don't remember doing it, then you _really _have no business as a crimefighter, because you still need extensive therapy. Either way, I think the Lark has sung its final refrain."

"But what if I _didn't _do it?!" Now she was growing more frustrated than frightened; the slight edge was unmistakable. "What if I'm being framed, here? It's happened before, don't tell me neither of you has ever been framed for somethin' they didn't do!"

"Who would want to?" I countered. "Harley, most of your enemies were the Joker's enemies, and now that he's dead, I really doubt they'd come after you, of all people, trying to get back at his memory!"

"No! Dammit, there's gotta be one stupid schmuck out there who's carrying a helluva grudge, right? I couldn't tell ya who it is, maybe Ivy, but- but it stands to reason! Maybe I'd forget lifting some froofy brooch, or a bracelet, but a hundred diamonds are a whole different-"

"_A-HA!_" I snapped. "So you lied to me about the bracelet, I _knew _it! How long has this been going on, Harley? Were you ever going to tell me it happened again?"

"That's- that's beside the point," she finished lamely. "I thought I was still going crazy, and I d-didn't wanna worry you for nothing, but- but I _know _I couldn't have done this, I would have remembered it!"

"You betrayed my trust, Harley," I said at last. I was tired of mincing words, battling through specifics. Tired of it, everything was too painful... same difference. "I don't see how I can keep living with somebody who'd do that, much less think they'd help make Gotham a better place. Please, don't make this any harder than it already is."

"No," she said stubbornly. "No matter what you say, I- I think this is a good fit, I'm helping! Maybe at first I was more or less a nuisance, but now I'm getting the hang of-"

"Just because we _can _do something doesn't mean we _should,_ Harley! Right now I could wring your neck for lying to me about your shoplifting habits, but where would that get us?!"

She finally paused. Seizing on the opportunity, I opened the door at last and made to leap inside and leave this colossal disappointment far, far behind me, but before I could set one foot inside she said, "You don't mean that."

"I do. Goodnight."

"No, Babs, don't- don't say things like that! It's because of you that I'm- you're the one who-"

"Well, maybe I shouldn't have done that, either," I snapped.

The grounds at Wayne Manor were silent, save for the whistling of the bitter hurricane-force winds. Shit. _Shit. _I had gone way, way too far and I knew it instantly; that was a horrible, unforgivable thing to say to anybody. Against my better judgment, I looked over at her, and the harpoon in my chest sunk in another inch. There were so many tearstreaks I couldn't even tell which were old and which were fresh. Her eyes were stretched wide, and her mouth was slightly open. As I watched, the colour slowly drained from her face, leaving her ghostly beneath the halfmoon.

"O-oh."

Swallowing was difficult. "Harley, I didn't mean that. I apologise. But... but I think I have been too lenient, let my guard down too much. I didn't even see you still needed help."

She nodded.

"You, uh... you should probably tell Dr Leland about this, now. Then, maybe you can figure out why this is happening."

She nodded.

"Harley, say something."

Her eyes squeezed shut. "Wh... what should I say?"

God. What did I do? "I don't know, but... come on, talk to me."

"Barbara, I'm sorry," she whispered, staring at the grass. "I know I'm a pain in the butt. You put up with me a lot longer than I figured you would, though, and... and I'm grateful. I'll, uh... I'll get a hotel room, like you said. Yeah."

Barbara? "Okay. Can you get a cab into town?"

"Yeah. I just gotta go back in and... and get rid of this stupid getup."

"Okay." Every bit of logic in my head told me to get in the car, to leave it alone, but I had to make sure she wasn't going to do anything rash. "Harley-"

"Who the hell was I kidding?!" she burst out furiously. "I could barely hack it as a supervillain's witless sidekick, and yet I have a delusion of grandeur like this?! Look at me! Look at me in these freakin' pigtails, like some- some- _RRGH,_ I really must be crazy!"

"Harley!" I gasped, dropping my keys as I watched her pound her fists against the top of her head, haphazardly snatching at the very pigtails she'd been so proud of. Rash. "Harley, stop!"

"This really is all your fault, y'know!"

What? "_WHAT?!_"

"You had to go and save my life!" she spat. "I mean, Geez Louise, we both know this town woulda been a lot better off without a ditzy schitz like me in it! What are you, some kinda masochist?!"

Only Harley could make me go from melancholy to panicked to indignant in under ten seconds. "Whoa, whoa, am I hearing you right? You really expected me to just leave you lying down there, bleeding to death in your bathwater of doom?!"

"Of course not!" she screamed, causing an owl in a nearby tree to hoot and fly away from our disturbance. "Why would you do that?! You're just a big damn goody two-shoes, ain'tcha? Me, I'd have left you there in a heartbeat, it's not my problem, but you just _had _to save one of your most annoying enemies, didn't ya?!"

"Oh, well, excuse _me _for having a conscience! You should look into getting one of your own someday!"

"I would, except I'd be afraid I'd turn out like _you _- saving people I can't even stand! Who needs to deal with that?!"

"I do, evidently! I've been dealing with it every day for almost a year!"

"Yeah, well, like it's been easy living with _you!_"

Now she was just being offensive. "And what's _that _supposed to mean?!"

"You can't leave a single dish in the sink! You always make the right decision, no matter what it is, no matter how many options there are! And do you _have _to know exactly when every restaurant, supermarket and video rental store closes?! That's unnatural!"

"Oh- oh yeah?! Well, _you _snore like some kind of wildebeest! You leave hair in the tub drain, dirty socks in the breadbox, and you forgot to let the cable man in _three times in a row!_"

"The last time was _your _fault, because I was out pickin' up something for _you!_ Christ, there's gratitude for ya, I guess!"

"Something f-for-"

"Dammit, why do you gotta make it so hard for me to be grateful?" she wailed. "Everything I've been doing, tryin' to make it up to you, I get that it's never gonna measure up, but you could at least not pooh-pooh all over my pitiful little efforts!"

"What do you mean?!" I shouted. "I never said you weren't trying, I'm saying- wait, why are we even talking about this?! We were talking about you not being completely cured yet! You don't _owe _me anything, I told you that - stop trying to change the subject!"

"I'm _not!_ This is _exactly _the same subject, 'cos how'm I ever supposed to pay you back if I'm too crazy to help you fight crime?! And no self-respecting businessman with an ounce of smarts is gonna hire me if I'm _still _certifiable - it'll be hard enough just being a _former _mental patient!"

"That's beside the point, because you _do _need help!" Time to regroup. I took a few heaving breaths before continuing; much to my relief, Harley was doing the same. "You need to get better, one way or the other, okay? Don't worry so much about what I think of you and concentrate on yourself."

"But I _do _worry, I can't help it! You're my whole world, Babs, I can't just pretend I don't care what you think!"

"I can't be your whole world, Harley, you have to look out for your own interests! You're a grown woman, I can't be doing it for you all the time!" Something wasn't sitting right with this, but what? I was in too big a huff to pull back and figure it out, though.

"I don't want you to do it for me!" The tears were back. Damn, but it was hard to look when she did that... "I wanna do it for you, to _prove _to you that you ain't been wasting your time! My life, my freedom - I owe it all to you!"

"You don't owe me _anything!_" I repeated, anger rising as if it had been straining at the bit since I bottled it up. "Why do you have to care so goddamn much about settling this score, what does it matter?!"

"Because you're _all _that matters to me, okay?! It's not like I got anything else goin' for me!"

"That still doesn't mean you've got to sit there and do everything you can to make _me _happy! What about you? What do _you_ want?"

"What do I want?!" she growled, taking a step toward me. "What do I _want?!"_

A wave of dread crept its way up my neck. She was about to tell me something horrible, I knew it. She wanted me to throw myself in front of a train, or she wanted the Joker back. Could I really handle the rest of this conversation? But I knew I was in too deep to bail now. "Yes, Harley! What is it you really want in life?! There has to be something!"

Her lip quivered. She swayed on the spot slightly, and for a second I thought she was going to pass out. Then, before I could ask her if she was okay, she said, "There is. But... but I'm not good enough."

"For what?!" I demanded. "Whatever it is, I'll help you get there, but first you have to make your own decisions! You've got to make a commitment to get some help, and then we can-"

"Christ, Babs, how thick is your skull?!" she blubbered. She was shaking so badly with mingled rage and sorrow, I had to fight an instinct to run. Was she going to explode? "You're never gonna be able to help me dream my impossible dream, 'cos it actually _is _impossible!"

"That's such a copout. You won't know it's an unattainable goal until you've at least given it a shot, so don't sit there and feed me this 'impossible' bunk!"

"It's not about whether or not I _can!_ There's no amount of improvements I can make to myself that'll help 'cos I ain't _got it_, okay?! No matter how many books I balance on my head or calculus problems I can solve blindfolded or- or soup kitchens I spend eight nights a week at, it ain't gonna make me a better person, it ain't gonna be enough!"

I had to shake my head and laugh - bitter though the laugh was. "I really, _really _don't understand you. Day in, day out, you say you want to turn over a new leaf, but here you are, making excuses. There's _nothing _out there so difficult that you can't work hard enough to-"

"Of course there is! There's _you,_ ain't there?!"

I blinked. "What do I have to d-"

"It's you! It's you, it's _you, it's YOU!!"_ She was screaming so loud I could hear a hoarseness creep into her voice, and before I could pull a few stray ideas together to form a coherent thought, she lunged at me, pinning me to the ground and firing punch after wild punch at my face. "_God, _why can't you leave it alone, why are you so stupid - why am I so stupid?! Why do I gotta be so messed up?!"

"Harley, get- get off!" I shouted numbly, hands barely keeping the worst of her onslaught from doing me serious damage. "Wh-why are you-"

"I don't know!" she howled, her own tears mixing with my blood. Her punches were becoming weaker and more pointless by the second. "How am I supposed to stop?! I _hate _you, I _hate _you, I _HATE YOU!"_

"Harley, don't! Why are you- stop it, Harley, _STOP!_"

Finally, my hands snaked out and grasped her wrists at just the right moment; ages of tae kwon do and juijutsu training at work. Her knuckles had a hint of crimson from my face; she'd only landed a few blows, but they would hurt in the morning. As I stared through her hands into her face, contorted with about a thousand emotions, they all coalesced into one: horror.

"Omigod," she breathed, arms going limp. "No, I- no, why'd I do that? Oh, no, no, no..."

"Harley, what is the matter with you?!" I was definitely more scared than mad; everything felt like I was in an earthquake. "I- I'm sorry, I don't know what I did, but- but why-"

As I watched her watching me, felt her begin to shake as badly as I already was, some sadistic bastard lurking in the depths of my mind rewound the tape and made me relive what had just happened, then forced me to take a midterm and try to solve the equation. What had I asked her? Something about what she truly wanted. What had she responded with?

"It's you," she repeated presently. "I- I figure you're going back to that again."

She knew I was thinking about it. About it being me. I was what she wanted out of life? "B-but- but what does that _mean?_"

"Nothing," she whispered. "Nothin' at all. Just like me. A big, insane, violent nothing."

"No, that's- but... I don't understand."

"Don't try." She wrenched free of my grasp, standing unsteadily. "What's the point? I tried to tell you, I can't, I'm not- nevermind. Stupid. I'm so stupid..."

What was she talking about? People aren't goals. Goals are personal achievements, or an amassment of wealth, or power. She wanted what, to be like me? That, I could wrap my mind around; I had my own role models. Far better ones than myself, to be sure. But something about the way she said it made me think that wasn't quite it... unless-

Wait. Where was she?

"Harley?" I said uncertainly, pushing myself to my feet. My head swam; one of those punches must have connected more solidly than I realised. "Hah... Harley, wh-where, wait..."

"Good heavens!" said Alfred. Alfred? When did _he _get there? Squinting to my right, I saw him hurrying across the lawn. "Miss Gordon, what's-"

"Harley," I said shortly. "Where did sh... where is she?"

"Easy, now," he soothed, offering me a handkerchief to wipe some of the blood away. "What's going on, here? Did she do this to you?"

"Yeah. _No!_" I blinked back some of the haziness. "Well, she did, but... but it's nothing, we got into an argument, and... but forget about that, which way did she go?"

"I'm not sure," he said, trying his best to support me. "I was merely coming to ensure the front door was locked when I saw you spread across the grass. She fled?"

"I guess..." Too much was happening at once. A lot of things needed to be sorted out before any more factors came into play. I began scrabbling under my car for the keys. "Alfred, d-do me a huge favour?"

"Yes, Miss Gordon?"

"Don't tell Bruce about this. Not yet. I... I'm going after Harley."

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

Stupid. That really was the word.

As I ran down the winding road, vision obscured by unshed tears, a light mist began to fall. The droplets were frigid and clung to my skin. Man, did it have to be this cold tonight, of all nights? I had nowhere to go. I had nobody anymore. I would be stuck out here in the cold.

Of course, I could check myself into a hotel, like Babs said. Unfortunately, I had to get there first, and the buses weren't running at this hour. Where could I find a payphone? It was pretty much as far out as you can get, Brucey's place; nothing but trees and a few scattered houses, and all those people were fast asleep. I'd caused enough trouble for one night without disturbing anybody else.

Stupid. Why did I have to say anything? It probably would have been easier for all parties involved if I'd just bowed out gracefully. My stint as the Lark had been cancelled. I was a washed-up has-been before I even really got a chance to start. There wasn't much I could do about it anymore.

And now... now she was going to figure it out. I knew I'd be going over and over what I'd said if I were in her sensible shoes right now. I'd tried to keep that lid on tight, but little snippets had slipped out when I lost control, when-

The ground came up to meet me suddenly, gravel grinding its way into my hands. Luckily, I was still wearing the reinforced superheroine tights, so my knees were just dandy. I cried into the night, brushing the dirt and tiny bits of rock from my palms, and I found now I couldn't stop sobbing. It wasn't that bad.

But there were other wounds. Other things had been said that hurt much worse than some pathetic little scratches. And worse still than any of that was what I'd done to Babs.

"_I hit her,_" I gasped aloud. That was ten times as awful as just thinking about it, but didn't I deserve to feel this? She'd felt my fists - right in the face. If this didn't prove I wasn't ready for the world of the sane and level-headed...

Painfully, I pushed to my feet and started running again. Most of my mind was on auto-pilot, working with such weak concepts as, "If I just keep running, if I can put more and more distance between me and my problems, maybe that'll fix everything." The rest of it was trying its damndest to forget the horrible thing I'd done, and forget the weakness that had caused it in the first place.

And then I tripped again, and a second later, I forgot everything.

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

My car took me in and around the bluff that made up the grounds of Wayne Manor, eyes and headlights raking the trees and brush, hoping against hope that I'd see blonde pigtails. Not a clue; not even a single hint as to what had become of our little lost Lark.

She couldn't have run so far that she got back into Gotham proper. That was impossible. Had she been lucky enough to hitch a ride? Doubtful - nobody was out this late, and it would be a few hours before the worker bees got up to do it all over again. Harley had fallen off the face of the earth.

"Bat One, come in," I whispered into my stylish-yet-multifunctional watch.

"Read you. Over."

I sighed. I didn't want to make this public knowledge, but... "We've got a problem."

"Need some help tracking her down?"

I almost ran the car into a telephone pole. "H-how did y-"

"Home security. You should know that much."

Damn. What was the point in telling the butler to keep it under his bowler if Bruce had been watching the whole time? "Well, if you're _so _well-informed, why aren't you and the Batmobile out here yet?!"

The tinny voice coming from my watch face chuckled. "It looked somewhat personal. Wasn't sure I should get involved."

"Whatever, just- just get moving."

"Will do. Out."

My life had reached new heights of ridiculousness. Here I was, beyond exhausted, trundling in and around the outskirts of Gotham, looking for my boss's arch-nemesis's unstable former sidekick, who just so happens to have been living with me for almost a year. When did Rod Serling come strolling around the corner? Or maybe Alan Funt? Yes, that's it: the latter, because this was all starting to feel like one big cosmic joke - the Joker's last laugh. He'd told his Girl Friday to latch onto me, drive me up a wall, worm herself irremovably into our lives, then pretend to crack again. That had to be the case.

My breath was shallow as I brought the car to a stop on the shoulder. _Me? _I was her reason for living, I was her goal in life. What is that supposed to _mean?_ Each possibility was scarier than the last. She wanted to copy me? I was such a boring heroine; maybe I did the people of Gotham a great service under Batman's wing, but by day... I shelved books. A lobotomised monkey could do that. She wanted to be my indentured servant - all because I saved her life? I didn't need, nor want, anything of the kind. Her recent relapse into dementia notwithstanding, she was actually a good friend; bubbly, invested, thoughtful. But I was not at all interested in a henchwoman, or a prodigy.

And then there was the very last possibility. I drove it from my mind again. It was weighty, and I felt the onset of cardiac arrest every time it started creeping up on me again. Absurdity didn't begin to describe it. I eased the car back onto the road and resumed the search, chest pumping twice the usual rate and blinking rapidly to clear my head. For lack of a more appropriate phrase, that was crazy talk.

. . ᴥ . .

Forcing you to suffer through the following hour and a half of searching would constitute cruel and unusual punishment, I think. Let's fast forward to me and Bruce pulling alongside each other on one of several dozen side streets we'd combed.

"Anything?"

His expression was rather grim. "Sorry."

"God, I- I don't know what to say, this was all such a-"

"You don't have to tell me if it's too sensitive a subject."

"Well..." I frowned, glancing over at the first twinklings of sunrise. "I know she's not fit for the job, Bruce, but she seems to think this is her sacred duty. What are we supposed to do if we find her?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now, it's a lot more important we make sure she's alive." I guess he saw my brow crease, because he followed that up with, "Which I'm sure she is."

"I hope you're right," I sighed. "Lord help me, I think I'd miss the bimbo."

"We've searched this area enough." He took a moment to smooth his hair back while he contemplated. I hadn't been expecting him to undertake this search in civilian dress, driving the Bentley, but I guess it wasn't necessarily a job for the Dark Knight. "I'll keep at it for a while, but you should head home."

"But-"

"Perhaps you'll see something on your way," he insisted. "But if we don't find her soon, our chances will drop significantly. Nevermind the fact that we're both about to drop ourselves."

One more sigh. Did I do anything else these days? "You're right, as usual. I guess it won't do us any good if we find her, then fall asleep at the wheel."

"Get some sleep. It's Saturday, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but I was scheduled to go in at noon."

He frowned. "Skip it. That might not be a wise philosophy to pass on to the workforce of America, but the stacks will still be there on Monday. Harley, on the other hand-"

"You don't have to do that," I hissed. "I'm not four years old, I get it."

He smiled weakly. "My apologies."

. . ᴥ . .

Sleep would not come for poor old Barbara Gordon. I tossed and turned, but the roiling typhoon of worries and fears refused to give me a moment's peace. Why did Harley have a relapse? _Did _she have one? Why was she so fixated on me? Why did I care? And where on God's green earth did she go?

I must have actually managed to drift off at some point, because my cell phone woke me up at around five in the evening.

"Found her."

"Really?" I gasped, sitting bolt upright. "Where?"

"Gotham PD."

My face slackened. "Oh Christ. What did she do?"

"Nothing, as it turns out. They found her soaking wet, curled up in a ditch and covered in old newspaper. Probably picked her up before we got to that area. According to the report, they assumed she was a wino and tossed her in the drunk tank, but her Arkham record popped up when they ran her prints."

"Great," I moaned, running a hand through my matted hair. Apparently, I'd been sweating a lot during my unrestful rest.

"They registered her leggings as 'unusual'; I'm going to personally make sure all trace of that gets deleted from the report. Unfortunately... your father has been made aware of this. He's not pleased."

"Double great. Any more good news? What are they going to do with her?"

"Actually, since they didn't find the diamonds on her - being that they're all sitting next to me - and she wasn't involved in anything else suspicious, there's really nothing they can do but ask her why she was out and about in the wee hours of the morning. She had a jacket on, so if she has the foresight to say 'jogging,' they've got no solid reason to hold her."

"Whew. I guess that puts both us and her in the clear."

"Yes... except I'm still not sure what to do about this. Once Tim recovered, I had no doubt he'd continue to keep the secret, even if his number has been retired. He's a good lad. Harley, on the other hand-"

"Is an evil bitchmonster."

"I never said-"

"It's what you would have meant. But she's not, Bruce, I- I don't know, maybe I'm not qualified to make this call, but I still think she's not trying to pull a fast one or anything. Crazy or not, I think she's reformed."

"So, then..."

"Yeah." I took a deep breath. "Maybe we should just... y'know, give her some time off. Reevaluate everything. Then, if we think it's for the best, we'll ask for her cape and cowl."

"More or less what I was thinking. We are in the business of justice, after all; on the off-chance those diamonds were planted on her, I'd rather not find out _after _we've tried and convicted. I'll start looking into that theory."

"Do you want me to go down and pick her up?" I asked nervously. A small voice in the back of my head was commanding me not to ask, but I ignored it.

"If you like. I can't get involved personally; I already looked suspicious enough showing up at her trial. You, however-"

"I know, I know... she's kind of crashing in my living room. I'll get on it. And Bruce?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks."

"Of course."

As I dragged myself into the bathroom and pulled the tap for the shower, I looked at myself in the mirror. Huge bags hung under my eyes from a steady diet of anxiety and fatigue. My lip was swollen, and I had a half-moon near the crest of my cheekbone. I could feel a nice goose-egg coming in beneath the tangle that used to be my auburn hair. What a mess. Why would _anyone _look up to me?

END SESSION


	9. Disquiet And Dissolution

Session Nine: Disquiet And Dissolution

Here I was again. Lockup. The clink. The little house. Limbo. Cooling my heels...

Everything between when Babs grabbed my wrists and that moment was kind of a blur. Some words came out of my face, then I ran, and then... I dunno. I told the cops I was out for a jog - you don't get picked up as many times as I have without knowing your default alibis - but truth is, I didn't really know why I was running, or where they found me. But now-

"Harleen Quinzel?"

Ugh. Not another interrogation. "Who wants to know?" I asked without thinking.

"Your roomie," said a way too familiar voice. I sat up so fast I almost fell off the bench a big woman with no eyebrows had let me have (I think she thought she could collect on that favour once we'd been upgraded to the state penn).

"Babsy!" I shrieked, grasping the bars. "Oh, Babsy, I can't- what are you- how'd you know I-"

"I called in here to see if they'd found anybody matching your description," she said casually. Probably a lie, but what did I care? "You were gone all night, where were you?"

"Oh, you know how these things go," I bluffed with a giggle. "You go for a walk, you end up lost, and then you start to panic and it's-"

"Nevermind that now," she said, patting my hand and smiling wearily. Holy guacamole, did she look tired - not to mention all the bruises. A shiner and a bloody lip. Why was she bothering to spring me? "I'm just glad you're not roadkill. God, you had me at the end of my rope!"

As I grinned wider than I really felt like doing, I noticed the Commissioner a few doors down, frowning at the two of us. I'm sure he thought his daughter had really, _really _lost it, but I knew better; she was just a good person. But I wasn't deluding myself, either. I knew everything wasn't going to be sunshine and puppies from here on out.

About twenty minutes later we were finally getting into her car, able to relax now that we weren't surrounded by boys in blue. Then we were inside the car, and the tension in the air was thicker than before. Bleh. Maybe I should say something, just to try to break it.

"So," I said.

"So."

For a while, we just sat there. That didn't work. Babs started the engine and buckled up, but still didn't take it out of park. Finally, as she used checking her mirrors to delay the inevitable, I blurted, "I can get a cab, y'know."

"No, that's stupid. I can at least drop you off, or..."

But we both accepted that sentence fragment as a good place to stop. It wasn't, but we did, anyway. She pulled out of the space, onto the road, and we were at a light when she said, "Hell."

"What?"

"I'm out of gas. I don't have enough to get back to the apartment."

"There's a BP on 14th."

"There is?"

"Sure. They got a Golden Pantry."

She frowned at me. It was better than nothing. "No, that one's down on 19th."

"What?"

"That BP is on 19th. I think you're thinking of the Farmland milk store."

"Nuh-uh! There's no Farmland on the East side!"

"Sure there is. Two of them, I think..."

"Really?" I hesitated. "No, no there ain't, I'm right. The BP is on 14th, and it's just a liquor store on 19th."

"Shut up, you're cra..."

We froze, both glancing over at the same moment. Those were guilty eyes. I'd known enough criminals to know what they look like by now. She really did think I was crazy. I might be, but I hated her looking at me like that.

"Harl-"

"No, don't," I whispered. "I, uh... I think I'd rather we not do this. I'll just pretend I forgot where you live, or that we used to know each other, and we won't have to drag it all through the muck."

"But Harley, I just want to say-"

"Babs, c'mon, I-"

"I want to say I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" I was getting angry. I didn't want to, didn't have any right, but I couldn't help it; here I was trying to make this easier on both of us and she still wanted to hash it out. "Sorry for thinking I'm as psycho as ever, or sorry I found out?"

"I don't know, both?" When I opened my mouth again, she rushed ahead. "Harley, I don't _know,_ okay? It's like I don't know _anything _anymore, what to do, what to think, who to-"

"Sorry. You got every right to think I'm nutty as a fruitcake. There really ain't such a thing as a clean slate, I know, but... just so I can say I said it, I'll say it one more time. I didn't take those diamonds."

"Then where'd they come from?" she pleaded, turning to me as she came to a stop next to a pump at the 14th Street BP station (told ya). "If you didn't take them, how did they get into your belt?"

"I don't know that, either! You're Batgirl, you're the Commish's kid, why don't _you _figure it out?! All I know is I'm being set up!"

She looked taken aback, but at that exact second, I didn't care. With every passing second, I felt more and more alone, and all I wanted to do was hop the first train out of Gotham so I could start getting used to it. But before I could find the will to get out of the car, she said, "That's what Bruce said."

I blinked. "H... he did?"

"Yeah." She sighed, leaning back as if she'd run a marathon or three. "And... I agree with him. I hope you don't blame me for making sure, though."

"Making-"

"You're _not _crazy." She smiled weakly. "Fact is, next to you, I think I might be the wacko, but... I don't think you're having memory lapses, or lying or whatever. The diamonds would have made sense, but... but that bracelet? What a gaudy piece of trash. Maybe you weren't brought up by lords and ladies, but you've got better taste than that."

I laughed wetly. "Y-you don't have to say all this stuff, Babs. Not just to make me feel better. I know you think I'm still-"

"You're not," she said firmly, and I think she surprised even herself with her constancy on that front. "I mean... not really. Or at least, only as nuts as the rest of the world is. I don't think I've ever met anybody who has both feet firmly planted on the ground in my whole life; at the very least, they have one pinky toe in the air."

"B-B-Babsy-"

"That doesn't mean we're good," she whispered sadly, which halted me from breaking down into a joyful puddle of blubbering. I wished she would have let me! "We are, pretty much, but... but I want you to tell me something first."

No. I couldn't do it. No amount of money or finery could make me- "What is it?" Oops. Didn't mean to say that.

"What did you mean?"

Time to play coy - play for time. "By what?"

"You know what."

Like that was enough to bypass my defenses. "Uh, if ya don't mind, the whole night is kind of a blur now; maybe you can-"

"Don't bullshit me!" she hissed, rolling over to look at me with a weird intensity that I'd never seen in her features before. It was almost awe-inspiring, even with the bruises. Maybe because of them. "What did you mean when you said I'm what you want out of life?"

"Oh, that." Drat. Did she have to remember that part?

"Yes, that."

"What do you think I meant?"

"Oh, no," she half-laughed. "You're not getting off with that Psychology 101 mumbo jumbo. Tell me."

"I don't know," I said desperately. My hand drifted toward the door handle. Now was the exact wrong time - if there ever would be a right one at all. "It's all a blur, like I said, and half the time I was just talkin' outta my-"

"Harley."

I was looking out the window. Her eyes were on me, I could feel them, boring right through layer after layer of my being, trying to find their way to the center of my heart. But I had to close it off. There was nothing but blackness in there. "You're my best bud, okay? What more do you want?"

"The truth would be nice."

"That _is _the truth." Stupid tear ducts were working overtime. Didn't they know it was the weekend? "There's nothin' truer I could say."

Aw, crap. I looked. I told myself not to, but my head turned and stared right into her eyes, and I saw she was crying as hard as I was, except quietly. Sneak. I knew what was wrong with me - aside from the usual laundry list, I mean. But why-

"Dumb blonde... you're gonna send me to an early grave, you know that? Rgh... and why did you have to beat me up?"

"Oh..." My hand went to my lips. "Oh, Babs, I really am sorry about that, I feel awful, I- you should be bustin' my skull right about now! We were- and I- sheesh, I don't even get it myself! Why the hell would I _ever _wanna hit you?"

"Maybe because I was being a crappy friend." I could see her throat moving to swallow, but it was having a lot of trouble. She swiped the back of her hand across her eyes. "I should've had more faith in you, Harl, but instead I... took the circumstances at face value. Wow, major points for me."

"Forget it," I sobbed, reaching over and squeezing her so hard I actually did hear her go "_HNNGH!_". "Forget the whole disaster, I- God, I can't believe I-"

"You have no idea how scared I was! All night, I d-didn't know if you'd been run over, or fell down a cliff, or- or-"

"Babs, I just- I'm just so relieved, and- and happy! I'm so happy right now, I'm so, so happy!"

"Then why are you crying, dumbass?!" she sobbed into my shoulder. We both started laughing, bawling, and generally making a mess of her car for at least ten minutes; several people were staring. Oh, well - let 'em.

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

It was obvious that we'd made up, because things became very, very easy between Batgirl and the Lark-on-hiatus. To watch us, you'd probably think we knew each other since high school, even though Harley's a few years my senior. It felt so nice to get all that angst out of the way and just let the good times roll or whatever. Movies, and bowling, and shopping, and ice skating, and a birthday party for one of my coworkers - he was turning twenty-one, and that in and of itself guaranteed it would be ridiculous. Harley, actually, appointed herself designated driver - can you believe it? Me, plastered and falling all over myself, and her holding back my hair while I puked in somebody's rosebush. Is that irony? Yes, I'd say so.

But our ongoing slumber party didn't go on very long, because it was only a few days later that April First came... which, for her, meant Moving Day. We would obviously continue to be friends, yes, but for that half-week I'd actually really begun to enjoy having Harley as a roommate. Maybe that makes me a horrible person for not appreciating her company before... or maybe I'd become as crazy as she supposedly was, and therefore this was all very disappointing from an outside perspective. Either way, we'd grown so close that we were almost like sisters, and _now _she was moving out. Bad timing, that's all it is.

Don't count me out, though. I know you were thinking I'd carelessly shrugged off the gravity of the little comment she made right before turning my face into hamburger, but I didn't; I just decided to let it go. We'd go back to that when she was ready, and if that day never came... ah, who cares? Even though I still caught myself wondering exactly how I became friends with _her_, of all people, the newfound friendship was more important to me than chasing after ghosts.

We got to her apartment early on the morning of the Third, just to take a preliminary look around. She told me she'd been cleaning and painting while I was at work, and it showed; a fresh coat of pale blue on every wall, with white baseboards and a tasteful oriental rug in the middle of the living room (hardwood floors - my _God, _who did she have to _kill?!_). When I asked her why she didn't go with something like red, she acted kind of nervous and depressed. I'm not sure what that was about.

"The couch is gonna go here," she said excitedly, gesturing to a spot against one wall as I set down a box full of her clothes. "I'm gonna look at some thrift stores and stuff before I end up at Weekends Only; never know when you'll get lucky."

"Mmm," I grunted, massaging my shoulder. The only drawback? Fourth floor... no elevators. That could get old quick.

"And I really, _really _want a big teevee like yours. Know where I can get one without selling a kidney?"

I laughed. "Not really. Actually, mine was a housewarming gift from Daddy, so I don't even know how much they cost... probably at least a thou."

"Nutbunnies." She frowned at the spot where she imagined it going. "Ah, that can wait, I'll shop around. But c'mon, I wanna show you the bedroom!"

The tour didn't take long. She had a nice-sized bedroom with plenty of closet space, a cozy kitchen, new appliances... the "office" the ad had mentioned was just barely large enough for a modest desk and a chair, but that was more than forgivable next to all the good points. Even the half-bath was fairly roomy, despite lack of tub.

"Gotta hand it to you, Harley," I said, coming back out of the master bedroom. "This is a find."

I could see her glowing already. "Ya like it?"

"You might want to watch your back; I almost feel like stealing it from you."

We laughed, but then she suddenly said, "Y'know, if you ever need to crash here for some reason, I totally owe you, feel free."

"Thanks, I appreciate that."

"I mean it, even if it's, y'know, permanent - in fact, maybe you should keep my spare key, 'cos I'd probably lose-"

"Harley, it's okay," I laughed, patting her on the shoulder. "You don't need to bend over backwards like that, I'm fine. It was a fun for a while, right?"

"Yeah." A wistful look came over her as she studied her Crocs. "I just... well, I felt rotten for bein' in your way all the time. I bet you wanted to have a boy or two over in the past, y'know, half a year!"

Then I laughed again, maybe a little louder than I meant to. "Oh, right! Because I'm a babe magnet like that!"

"C'mon, not once?" She was making those conspiratory eyes at me, dropping her voice for no reason. "What about the slab of beef from the party, uhh... oh, whatsisname?"

"Jared," I groaned. "That tool? Please. He's a nice enough guy at the office and he's not bad off, but when you get him in any kind of social situation, he's like-"

An understanding nod. "Okay, yeah, now I remember how he was _acting _at the party. But then again... you weren't exactly a lady that night, either."

My face began to grow hot. "Wh- I- I'm sure I don't remember what you're talking about."

"You lie like my oriental rug!" She giggled, I turned a deeper brick colour, and I was just about to stick my tongue out at her when she said, "Um... Babs?"

"What?"

"Nothin', I just... when I helped you out, when you were, uh..."

"Evacuating the contents of my stomach onto the next door neighbour's lawn?"

"That." Without warning, she swept across the living room and looked out the window, as if spotting something interesting across the street. "You said somethin' to me between spinal bops. It was kinda weird."

"I did?" That _was _kinda weird, but mostly because I had no idea what she was talking about; I thought I was doing well to recall that I threw up. "Man, was I trashed."

"As a skunk." She glanced back at me, then out the window again. "I was just wonderin' if you remembered what you were talkin' about? Couldn't catch it all."

"Sorry," I laughed. "That night's mostly an inebriated haze."

She shook her head, turning back to me with that big grin in place like it was always there. "Just curious, that's all. No biggie."

I felt myself beginning to share this curiosity. "What did I say, again?"

"Hmm? Oh, you said, 'Harley, if only you were a'... and then ya almost fell over into the puddle of puke you'd just made. Be glad for my quick reflexes!"

Our smiles mirrored each other; both equally fake, both a front for our real feelings. Mine was masking confusion - what was behind hers?

This was what I'd been dealing with ever since I'd rescued her from the holding cell; though most of the time we got along great, every once in a while we'd run across an unexpected burst of strangeness that jarred both of us. She recovered first, and I think that's because I'm the one in the dark. Of course I didn't enjoy it, but like I said, I was doing my best to let it go until she was ready.

. . ᴥ . .

"How'd it go out there?"

Bruce shook his head as he removed his cape, draping it over a table. "No better than usual, but no worse, either. How about you?"

"Whatever." My suit was waiting for me to shrug into it and ready myself, but before I could do that... "So, any progress?"

A bitter chuckle. "You keep asking me that, but I already told you; the criminals had cut the feed to the video cameras in the diamond exchange. There's nothing to tell me who might or might not have been there."

"Did you check on the camera from the pawn sh-"

"Yes," he sighed. "And even those looters had the foresight to bring a can of Rustoleum. Barbara, I know you want to catch this invisible perpetrator, but maybe you should concede the possibility-"

"I know, I know, she might really have done it. Don't worry, I'm not ruling it out, but you know how I feel."

He paused thoughtfully halfway through unfastening his belt. "How _do _you feel?"

"What do you mean?"

"About the briefest member of Team Bat. Would you say the two of you are... acquaintances?"

I rolled my eyes. "Okay, okay, Mr Tactful, so we're all chummy - two peas in a pod. Maybe I'd have been a little ashamed to say so before, but... she's a decent human being. More decent than a lot of people who _haven't _been institutionalised, actually."

"Hmm."

"What's 'hmm', hmm?"

"You may or may not have realised," he went on, booting up his computer and checking whatever it is he checks so frequently, "but every time she comes up in conversation, you seem... hmm."

"Still 'hmm'ing, huh?"

"Let's say... less dismal, then."

I blinked. "Dismal? You think I'm dismal?" A slight, nearly imperceptible shrug was my only answer. "Oh, that's nice. Remind me to put that down on your birthday card - 'To a truly dismal friend'."

"I'd be flattered that you even remembered my birthday."

"But are you serious? When we're talking about Harley, I mean."

"A bit. Not so much that I'm worried or anything. I merely found it curious."

I scoffed. "There's that word again, 'curious'. Harley was 'curious' the other day, and it nearly drove me through the roof."

"Curious about what?"

My face started to feel warmer. "Nevermind."

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Looks like our time really _is _up this time."

I sat bolt upright. "What? What d'ja say?"

Dr Leland smiled, clicking off her microcasette recorder. "This is the final session. Didn't you remember?"

Before I could stop myself, I was smiling widely. "You mean... ya mean I'm cured?"

"Harleen," she warned.

"I know, I know, we're not supposed to call it that, but it's so hard not to when- when I'm legally one hundred per cent sane!"

She laughed. "As sane as you can be as a member of the human race. Congratulations, Harley, you're a free woman."

"Oh, thank you, thank you, _thank you!"_ I crowed, hugging her once more (which I could tell she found uncomfortable, but I could care less right then). "Evan Almighty, wow, I can't wait to tell Babs, she'll be pleased as punch!"

"Yes - there's just one more thing." She glanced at the clock as I grabbed for my purse; it was one-oh-four. "This is on me, and off the record. If you don't want to answer that's fine, and it won't matter as far as my psychological evaluation goes."

I didn't like the sound of that. "Okay, shoot."

"Your former roommate, Barbara... what is she to you?"

A nervous chuckle. "Is this a trick question?"

Dr Leland put her clipboard, recorder and pen aside, taking off her glasses and stashing them in her breast pocket. For the first time, I noticed how velvety brown her eyes were. "Harley, to be honest, I'm... concerned."

"Well, you're a little late with this, since you already said it won't affect my evaluat-"

"You seem more attached to her than I'd consider healthy. It's nothing that would make you 'insane' per se, people become attached to persons or things every day, but... I am worried about you, ah, repeating old patterns."

"Don't be," I said pleasantly, standing and stretching to show my intent to flee this grilling session at the first opportunity. This wasn't open for discussion - no more than I was going to volunteer that someone keeps trying to frame me for kicks. A girl is allowed one or two secrets, ain't she? "I'm just glad I finally got a gal pal - somebody I can actually trust. Everything's tip-top, doc!"

"I'm sure it is," she said with a smile. "That's it. But you know, I do hope to see you again sometime."

I gave her a lopsided frown. "To be honest, I've had enough talkin' to shrinks to last three or four lifetimes... no offence."

"None taken. But I'm serious - if you ever have any questions or problems, or if you need a safe space to vent, my door is always open, and the tape will stay off. Even if you just want to say hello." Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again; as she started speaking, I could see her ever-professional manner bear the tiniest crack. "Moot though it may be to mention, we... lost a potentially great mind in the field those many years ago when you bit off more than you could chew. The staff and I miss having you around."

Gotta admit, I was truly touched; she must have been sent by my guardian angel, if I still had one. "Thanks, Doc. Y'know, you really are the only psychiatrist who's ever _tried _to understand me and didn't just write me off."

"There are plenty of quacks out there." The bridge of her nose crinkled. "That's off the record, as well."

END SESSION

* * *

As I write this quick note, I have a pounding headache. Rrgh. Anyway, thanks for the pair of reviews; I shall continue to update as long as there is life within me.

By the by... expect an interesting something-or-other next installment. I suppose it would be in honour of reaching Part Ten... whatever. Love and kisses.


	10. Elegant Exposure

Session Ten: Elegant Exposure

Glittering high heels. Dapper black ties. Flowy frills, showy shawls. Glittering stones, gold and silver. Ornate buns held in place with gallons of Aquanet. What a giant drag.

The Police Commissioner's Ball was an event held annually in Gotham City, usually in one of two locations; the VFW hall, or Wayne Manor. This year, of course, Bruce was playing host, and for some reason that made it even more annoying than usual.

"C'mon, honey, at least _act _like you don't hate this."

"Daddy," I whined. "I have been to at least _two dozen _of these. The novelty has worn off."

"I know," he grunted, swirling around his champagne flute and pulling at his moustache. "The city's rich and elite get yet another evening to show everybody else how much money they're willing to flush down the commode. Days like these are half the reason we have crime in the first place."

"Oh look, there's Bruce," I whispered. "And he's talking to Tim. Wasn't expecting him to show up."

"How do you know them, anyway?" he asked skeptically. "Just from the Quinzel woman's trial?"

"Yeah," I lied through my teeth. My father might know I was Batgirl, but I had yet to sell the head of the team out. "We all went out for dinner afterward."

Those reproachful eyes were back - like I was six years old again, trying to hide a burned spot on the carpet. "You're still hanging around with her, are you? I'm not convinced she's gone straight."

"Not only am I still hanging around with her, but... well, how do I-"

"_Babs!_"

Ooh, if only she'd waited five seconds. With a pained expression, I glanced up, and was rather shocked to see her decked out in such an amazingly elegant powder blue dress that a few heads were turning; it matched her walls quite well. The usual pigtails were still there, but transformed into tasteful French braids, and a simple silver filament around her neck set it all off nicely. It was such a transformation that I found myself gaping like everyone else.

"There you are, Babsy; I can't believe how huge this place is!" She blanched when she noticed my father standing there, all stern and dower. "Oh... hi, Commish. What's new?"

"That dress, I suppose," he said in what passed for politeness from him. "Very nice."

"Well, I'm hoping it stays that way," she whispered. "If I spill anything on it, I'll have to _keep _it - then I'll have to kiss my dream of watching GSN in hi-def goodbye!"

I laughed; Daddy gave her something like a grimace. We've all done a tag-tuck once or twice, but most of us don't usually tell the head of the police! A change of subject was in order. "Uh, anyway, what are you doing here?"

"Brucey invited me," she said simply. "I guess because of little Timmy. Jesus, I'm such a guppy in an ocean; I've never been to one of these!"

"Actually, you have," Daddy said gruffly. "I seem to remember some kind of noxious gas was involved."

"Oh, yeah."

"Dad," I hissed.

"No, it's okay," she laughed nervously, though she still seemed a little deflated. "That's more than fair with everything I did in the past. But hey, at least you won't be almost exploded tonight, right?"

Finally, he let her have a rueful smile. "Don't jinx it."

As he walked off to speak with somebody I thought I recognised as the city treasurer, Harley said, "I'm sorry, maybe I shoulda stayed at-"

"Don't be dumb," I gusted, pinching the bridge of my nose. "You know Daddy, he's tough on crime - regardless of circumstance, date, whether or not he's on the clock, family relation..."

"He's doin' his job, that's all. The city pays him to be a hardass."

"And he earns every penny," I snickered. "C'mon, let's find some kind of beverage."

"Dunno if I should let you do that," she said lightly as we set off to find the punchbowl. "Not after the _last _party you went t-"

"Shut _up, _will you?!"

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my favourite crimefighting chickadees."

That made me blink. "Oh, uh... hello, Tim."

"Hey, Barbara." He regarded Harley for a moment before nodding at her. "Some party, huh?"

"Yeah, it is," she laughed, giving me a sidelong glance. Seems Tim had brought a pound of hostility as a date. "Trippin' the light fantastic, too, huh?"

"Eh, not really." He took a sip of what I was relieved to see was only Sprite; he looked kind of annoyed by it, though. "It looks nice and all, but there's not really anything to _do._"

"You could dance," I recommended. "It's usually the point of a ball."

"Too bad I'm too short to dance with most of the women here."

"You're not that short," said Harley. "Besides, most guys keep growing into their twenties."

"Thanks," he said sarcastically. "That helps me out a lot right now. Oh well, at least it gives me a chance to actually talk to you guys again, since..."

I frowned, glancing around for any busybodies with large ears. "For the record, I wasn't the one who thought you should be cut loose, and neither was Harley. Bruce was just looking out for you, that's all. Don't start making us the bad guys."

"I just mean-" He sighed in frustration as a gabby couple walked by us. "He said I couldn't be on the team anymore because the Joker tortured me, but isn't that what happened to Harley? And look where _she _is!"

"Well, there you go," she said brightly. "Stick it out for a while longer, don't bring a shotgun to school or anything, and then maybe you'll get another shot at Robin. Hey, I didn't go straight from Arkham to Batcave."

"Practically," he grumbled.

"Well, it doesn't matter now, anyway, 'cause I'm on suspension."

"Harley," I hissed warningly. Much though I believed she was innocent, spreading the rumour would do little to help her case.

"It's okay, Babs."

"What for?" Tim asked, setting down his drink on a nearby table. Despite his obvious disapproval of her being a Knight, he seemed genuinely surprised that she'd been kicked off the squad so soon.

She shrugged. "Bruce just ain't sure I can cut it, either. Looks like you and me are in the same boat."

"Hmm..."

"Come on, Harley, let's dance," I said airily, inwardly desperate to end this line of questioning before Tim got any more ammunition to fire at her. Maybe if we left it at this, he would actually start to understand and sympathise with Harley, and if we were really lucky, let some of his resentment fade. Even as I led her away from the punch bowl, I could see a little more warmth in his eyes than in recent memory.

The floor wasn't too crowded, but there was barely enough room for me and my billowy monstrosity. As we began an awkward slowdance, huge folds of fabric ballooning up into our faces, Harley said, "Geez, Babsy, I think the Asian sweatshops just went into overtime - not that they get paid for it."

"Shut up. And that's a horribly offensive comment."

"Sorry," she giggled. "But it is gorgeous. Where'd you get it?"

"Daddy," I sighed. "Mom used to buy me dresses like this for the ball every year, and he figured we'd just continue the tradition. Every time I try to angle for anything simpler, he gives me some bull about not raising me to be a tramp."

"That's, uh... kind of him?"

"Right."

"Well, I say you look like a princess."

"Thank you." For a moment, I glowed from her compliment, but then I trod on the hem of my lacey tent and nearly fell. Harley caught me, so at least I was uninjured. "_RRGH!_" I hissed. "I don't want to _be _a princess, though - I want to have freedom of motion!"

Then I noticed Harley wasn't moving; her eyes were boring straight into mine, and colour was coming into her cheeks. Momentarily puzzled, I raised my eyebrows at her, then looked around.

Quite a few of the others on the ballroom floor were staring. That's what made me realise that, due to our position, everybody thought Harley had dipped me. My arms were around her neck, and both of her hands were supporting my back. It would have been all regal and romantic if, say, Bruce had been my dancing partner, but instead we and our pile of fabric looked odd beyond compare.

"Uh, oops," I whispered, feeling silly. "Sorry, Harley, we... what's wrong?"

Her face was almost entirely red, and her mouth was working as if to make a sound but nothing came. A quick glance told me her chest was heaving; that may have been sweat glistening on it, as well. Wait, why was I staring at her chest? Eyes up!

"Um, I, uh-"

"H-Harley, d-don't- it's okay, just pull me back-"

"Babs..."

Now, _everyone _was watching. We'd been in this position too long, drawing too much attention, and Harley had frozen. I wanted to push her away, just to snap her out of it, but she was supporting me, I couldn't regain my feet without falling. She had me at her mercy.

Then, miraculously, she pulled me to my feet, a few people laughed, and the dancing resumed. Harley, however, did not join in.

"Thanks," I panted, smoothing out my dress. "Stupid thing." She wasn't moving, but gazing straight ahead; some kind of gears were trying to turn within that blonde head. "Uhh... hey, Harley? Earth to Harley, come in?"

"Sorry, Babsy," she laughed, grinning broadly. "I- I don't know what came over me, I just- just kinda spaced. Sorry about that."

My throat felt like the Gobi Desert. "Um - _ahem!_ - uh, are you okay?"

"Yeah, sure. You're the one who almost smacked her head on the marble floor, remember?"

"Y-yeah."

"Wow, I could drink an ocean," she tittered. "How about you?"

"Oh, me too!"

"Let's go back to the punch, then!"

"Yeah!"

It was strange, but I was really expecting somebody to ask what that loud thumping sound was. It seemed deafening to me - but maybe that's because it was coming from inside my chest. What _was _that?

. . ᴥ . .

The night went by in a kind of floaty whirl, and for some reason I could scarcely spot Harley. Though we'd chat briefly, she was always flouncing away and getting lost in the crowd, or else being asked to dance by half the guys there - lucky minx. It was while Devon Wainwright was stepping all over my shoes that I noticed her slip out onto the balcony. Aha - cornered.

"Hey," I said, all nonchalant and chill.

"Oh, hey!" she laughed. "It's my good pal Barbara Gordon! Gosh, seems like I haven't seen you in forever!"

"Stupid," I laughed. Her eyes turned back to the starry skies as I joined her at the railing. "Having a good time?"

"Pretty good. Lots of beefcake here - did you see me dancing with that Swedish guy? Man, I thought he was gonna dip me in cocktail sauce and-"

"He is imposing, I'll give you that." The laughter kind of died in that really awkward way it does when you're either running out of topics, or else trying to avoid one in particular. I'd been planning to come out here and gloss over everything again, get us back on our usual track. What a good job I was doing so far, right? Then more than ever, I wished I was more of a people person.

"S-so who'd you come with?"

"Nobody," I said. "I mean... well, Daddy, I guess. You?"

She chuckled. "Babs, I don't even know anybody - who would I ask?"

"Yeah." My stomach roiled. Do it - just say something. There were a million things to talk about. Wasn't there something I was going to ask her? Five or six days ago... God. Come on, brain! "Oh, by the way, Harley, uh... one of the regulars at the library got me a couple of advance tickets to see 'Rent'."

"Yeah?" She was looking at me, now. That was good, wasn't it? We were both still acting like big idiots, but we were almost really talking. "It's comin' to Gotham?"

"Oh, it's not, sorry - over in Blüdhaven."

"Oh." She turned around and leaned back against the railing. "Wh... when is it?"

"Two months from now." She nodded. "Uh, if you don't want to go, it's-"

"No, no, are you kidding? Sure, sounds like fun!"

We both kind of giggled pleasantly for a few fleeting seconds, and then the silence set in again. What was with us? What was with _her?_ I was flustered because _she _was, but her trauma was an unknown at the moment. Or, I mean, I had inklings, but you know what they say about assuming too much.

"Babs?"

"Do you mind if I make an ass out of you and me?"

One eyebrow started climbing. "Uhh... as long as it ain't too painful?"

That hadn't come out exactly right. Argh, this was unreasonably difficult! I had to ask her something about the apartment, or her job hunt. Let's see, what should I ask about? But my hesitation must have shone through like a lighthouse during a lunar eclipse, and Harley confirmed that.

"Oh, I just remembered I- I think I left the stove on!" She clapped her hands with a kind of hurried finality. "That can't be good for it, right? Maybe I-"

"Harley, do you like me?"

SHIT. Shit shit _shit shit **SHIT!**_

"Wh-what?! Whaddaya mean? I mean, of course I do, you're like my bestest friend!"

"That's not what I meant!" I snapped, unable to stop myself. Back up, back up, back UP! My lips were very, very disobedient! I've said "shit" already, haven't I?

"Then- then I don't know what you mean!" she hissed, glancing at the all-too-thin curtain separating us from the rest of the crowd. I took note of this, also; as long as I could keep my voice down, we could have this conversation in relative peace. Wait - I didn't want to have it at all, what the hell was I talking about?! "Come on, lemme go check on my stove, you don't want my building to burn down because of me, do ya?"

"I'm sorry." My heart was thudding so hard against my ribcage that I wasn't sure I could hang onto it. "I- I just- I don't know, you've been so weird lately, and- I'm trying to understand, but I-"

"There's nothing to worry about, trust me!" Her smile did nothing to hide her anxiety; I'm sure mine was all over my face. "Now, I'm gonna go and make sure I still have an apartment. I'll- I'll see you soon, okay?"

My mouth worked for a second. I choked out an "I-", and my hand clawed at the air... and then, sighing, I simply waved. She waved too, bit her lip, then walked back into the ballroom.

My brain had started pounding in time with my heart. Both of them were hammering away at my poor soul, making me feel more than a little faint. She wasn't being straight with me; building up a wall between us, even though I could tell she hated doing it. What was the point, then? I knew the answers already, but my refusal to tell her and her refusal to admit they existed were a bigger roadblock than the answers themselves. Everything was such a mess, I was a mess, and my heels were clicking across the marble, and my thoughts blurred into a fractal and my lungs constricted and I knew if I didn't do anything about it soon I would explode and people were jumping out of my way and I was outside the front doors to the mansion...

"_HARLEY!_"

She whirled, braids bouncing slightly as she spotted me. She'd grabbed what looked like a real fur coat from the check room; I guess I had hesitated long enough for her to do that. "B-Babs? Are you okay? You look like-"

"Don't go!"

I charged down the stairs, and she backed away as if I were a herd of elephants about to trample her. "But I gotta, I- I told you, there's-"

"Oh, shut up and tell me, okay?"

"Tell you _what?_"

"Tell me you like me!"

As I got closer, I could see just how pale and clammy she was looking. Sweat was breaking out all over the exposed skin. Her cheeks were sparkling slightly in the low light - and I don't think that was sweat. "Don't be stupid! You know I-"

"_NO!_" I screamed. They probably heard me inside, but that was insignificant. I didn't have time to stop for them, I had to finish this before I lost my grip on the real world entirely. "Whatever it is, just- just say it, so I can hear it and we can stop dancing around like some half-assed ballet of hell and torture!"

"What am I supposed to say?!" Tears were threatening to flow, but she was still putting up a good fight. "It's nothin', like I tried to tell you, I'm- I just have this, and I have to- just nevermind, okay? There ain't no point!"

"But we can't do this anymore, either! Something _has _to give!"

She stopped, squeezing the sides of her head. "Babs, y-you make me crazy! I don't wanna go back to Arkham because of- not when you tried so- I can't let this take over my-"

"Then quit beating around the bush and _spit it out already!_"

"_FINE! **I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU!!** **FEEL BETTER?!**"_

She was pissed. _Really _pissed - her eyes were burning like coals, and her face looked like a persimmon. She was telling the truth, my heart ached with that undeniable knowledge, but she was furious that I'd coaxed it - no. I'd all but _beaten _it out of her. She had every right to be pissed.

The night air wasn't as cold as it was the last time we'd been where we were, shouting at each other as I tried to get away in my car. I thought that was strange. Also, the valet that Bruce had hired was slack-jawed, watching unabashedly; I felt it would be nice if he disappeared.

I wanted to disappear. I wanted Harley to disappear. Everything needed to disappear.

"I thought not!" Harley's voice was far from under control; her hands were fists, curled at her sides and shaking. "Maybe you figured I'd put it out there, and it'd be the magic Band-Aid to fix the boo-boo, but guess what? It doesn't work that way! And now you know, and I can't un-tell you, and- and now I have to leave!"

Someone's body swayed on the spot as she ran from me; it didn't even feel like mine. I was going to fall, I knew it. Gravity wasn't working right anymore - or maybe somebody had turned it off? My heart had stopped, my lungs were screaming, my ears were rushing, and... and in the middle of it all, one thought extended its cane and pulled me offstage, where the crowd was pelting me with week-old produce.

'She's leaving,' it said. 'Go.'

I went. Running at full tilt, zigzagging like a drunkard, I went as fast as my legs could will the rest of me while wearing a dress the size of a gazebo. "Wait!" I cried. "Wait, Harley, please!" She wasn't slowing. Through the blur of my vision, I could see one of her forearms was pressed over her face. Bricks came at me - no, I was moving toward them, moving downward. Gravity was back. My hands flew out, pushed off, and I hadn't lost much ground, I could still catch her!

_SPLASH._

That's right - Bruce has a fountain. Remind me to thank him for that. And now I was sopping wet, rolling over and over myself. I started choking. Where was the surface? I couldn't see through a million layers of fabric, and there was slimy stuff, and coins, and my lungs were on fire now, and- and a curtain was being pulled over my eyes, everything was going dark, I-

A hand closed on my wrist and pulled me up. Delicious fresh air flooded my lungs, bringing me back from the brink of death. "Oh, God," I choked, coughing hard. It was a good pain. "I- where- I-"

"Do take it easy," said a familiar voice. "Good heavens, what on earth-?"

"Harley," I rasped. "Which- which way did-"

"I haven't a clue," Alfred said as he helped me out of the water. Alfred! Oh, that dear, sweet gentleman! "Actually, I daresay this is beginning to feel a trifle familiar; were you and Miss Quinn involved in another argument?"

"I guess," I gagged, massaging my throat. "God... I can't believe I almost let a foot of water kill me!"

"It would be a rather unfitting demise for a Gotham Knight," he conceded.

"She... she ran off again. I don't want to go looking for her, I'm- I'm afraid I won't be as lucky as last time. What if-"

"What's going on out here?"

Perfect. "Nothing, Daddy. I... I was-"

"Playing in the fountain?" He was smiling to himself the same way he does when looking through my more embarrassing family albums. _Ooh,_ that was infuriating! "I thought you were too old for things like that."

"Oh, stuff it." Delicately, I peeled off my heels, flexing my soggy toes as I let the water drain from the shoes. "I'd really appreciate being left alone for a while, actually."

"Of course, Miss Gordon." Alfred bowed slightly before heading back inside, but I wasn't so lucky with my father. He waited a moment for me to pull a few pennies out of my cleavage, then sat down next to me.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"No."

"Come on, pumpkin. What's all this about?"

I sighed. He was going to keep needling until I gave him something. "Just... girl stuff. It'll be fine, I just... I tripped, and now I'm all waterlogged. Can I be alone for a while?"

He hesitated, moustache bristling. He'd had plenty of experience fighting his fatherly instincts, trying to let me live my own life, but that didn't mean they went away. He put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. "Sure. You'll be all right out here by yourself?"

"Yeah."

And then I was alone with my thoughts. That was a scary prospect, but I knew it was going to happen eventually. I wasn't ready, I didn't have the stomach for it, I can't allow-

She loves me. How is that possible? Me? And why, what's so special about me? Public librarian, no social life... no interesting hobbies. Well, unless you count putting on black spandex and a yellow cape, jumping from building to building and beating up crooks as a hobby, I guess... but then again, who didn't do that on a slow Saturday?

And there was another thing, and maybe it made me old-fashioned, or closed-minded or whatever, but... I was a girl. And _she _was a girl. I'd never shown any interest in other girls in front of her, had I? Not unless it was unconsciously. What would give her the idea that we could ever have a relationship like that? It could never work; I liked men, always had. Even during that experimental freshman year of college where everyone does and tries whatever they want, not once did I look at or contemplate being with another woman. Didn't pique my interest.

But Harley liked me. Maybe I _did _have some quality I was unaware of that attracted the same gender instead of the opposite. Was _that _why I'd barely ever had a date - much less a steady boyfriend? Did I have male pheromones or something? I didn't _feel _very male...

But now I was shivering. Cold and wet, and confused. I wanted to cry, I wanted to scream, but instead I just felt cold, inside and out. Everything had gone so far, become way more complicated than it ought to be. Friends could be friends, couldn't they? Things didn't have to get weird.

On the other hoof, why did I have her for a best friend, anyway? I was a normal Gothamite, a fine, upstanding citizen. So were my parents. So was Bruce, after a fashion. But my best friend? She was a psychologist-turned-harlequin, had been disowned by her parents, almost died in an asylum, and she used to have pet hyenas. Intelligently, we were the last two people who should try to become drinking buddies, so it was only natural that a few incomprehensible developments should come along and shake what we thought was safe passage.

And what the hell was I trying to tell myself? It wasn't weird that it was weird? That makes no sense whatsoever!

"At_-choo!_"

Now I was _really _cold. I should go inside, find an empty room with a fireplace - but I couldn't face any of them, not now. Maybe I should stay out here, let hypothermia set in and give me pneumonia... let myself die. It'd be easier than figuring out what I was supposed to do.

"Here."

Warm, velvety fur glided over my back and shoulders, wrapping me tightly. I tensed; what was it? But when I turned, of course...

"Oh, Harley," I breathed. "Harley, I- I-"

"I'm leaving Gotham."

My mind went blank again. Too much. I was fast approaching information overload.

"No, you're not."

"Tonight." She wiped at her eyes, but her tone was dead level; she was sitting fairly closeby. "I- I wanted to just run off, skip out nice and clean-like, but I didn't want you to try followin' me and end up in another fountain."

"Shut up," I muttered, pulling her coat yet more tightly about my shoulders. "Your fault, anyway."

"I know. But... but now ya won't have to worry about it anymore, right? I'll be outta your hair."

"Don't."

Only now did her voice crack the slightest bit. "I gotta. I... I can't do this to you. It was bad enough when I was your roomie, I bet. Wouldn't wanna be the best friend who keeps trying to push things too far. I hate jerks like that."

"Harley?"

"Yeah?"

Not knowing what else to do, I tipped over, letting my head fall into her lap. My fingernails dug through blue cloth into one of her warm, soft thighs; anything to prevent her from escaping. "Please... stay."

"I- I can't, I- this is so- ya don't-"

"Please."

One of her hands came to rest on my hair, fingers tracing their way through automatically. "B-but... what'll we do?"

"I don't care."

"You have to care." Her voice was scarcely more than a whisper now. "I'm trouble, y'know. A- and I don't even know what to feel anymore myself, but I don't want you hurt or- or-"

"We can't figure it out if you leave."

I was making a wet spot on her dress. She might have to return it, now. I felt awful, like a callous bitch who was ruining everything. If only I could... I don't know. I honestly didn't know what I wanted, what she wanted from me, what we were supposed to do now. I was utterly terrified, but as long as my head was in her lap she couldn't run off, couldn't abandon me to figure all this stuff out on my own. I didn't think I could manage.

"I'll stay."

"Okay."

Then I was able to cry myself to sleep.

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

I tried. I tried everything I could think of, and it happened anyway. The kicker? I couldn't even run away from this, now. Not with her asleep in my lap, trusting, depending on me to stick around.

What was an ex-villain to do?

END SESSION


	11. Amatory Accordance

Session Eleven: Amatory Accordance

Sunlight poured in through the window, filling every corner of the bedroom. I blinked at it, then squinted once I finally realised it was too bright to look at directly. Where was I? Was I really in my room, or- of course I was, there was my John Mayer poster. Good, good, I'd made it home. Snuggling in close to my teddy bear, I rolled over to go back to slumberland.

But how had I made it home? I was outside, soaked to the bone, talking to-

"Harley!"

I sat bolt upright, making my brain bounce around inside my head. Ouch; looks like champagne and swimming do not mix. But I wasn't in a wet ballgown - instead, I was wearing a violet nightie I remembered buying on sale at Macy's and never wearing. Woobie, my aged bear, rolled to a stop across the floor. What happened last night?

As I swung my legs out of bed, I also noticed I was wearing fuzzy socks. Feeling under my nightie, I did have panties on. Okay, those _were _the ones I was wearing under my dress; I could feel the lace. At least I knew now that I hadn't dreamt it all.

"H-" I coughed. Ew, I also had morning breath; into the bathroom I went. A quick gargle, rinse and Bayer later, I was staring into the mirror at my frizzy hair. Great. It probably smelled like mildew. Yawning, I padded out into the living room to check for the paper-

And found myself sprawled on top of Harley.

"_AAAGH!_" she screamed, thrashing around violently. Blinking, I tried to push myself away and disentangle our limbs, but I only ended up nose to nose with her.

"Oh!"

"Babsy!" she gasped, trying to catch her breath. "I, oh, you- that is, good mornin', 'cause it's mornin', and- what are you doing?!"

"Harley!" I said at last, a little slow on the uptake. The sofa sleeper was out; that's where we were. I stared down; she was wearing one of my oversized nightshirts, the one with a big whale plastered across it. "Is- is that-"

"Oh, yeah, it is!" She blushed, smiling uncertainly. "I... I didn't think you'd mind, I j-just- I'm sorry, I'll take it off, hang on-"

"No, no, no!" I protested, pinning her arms above her head to stop her from stripping for me. "Just keep those clothes on, it's fine, I-"

The redness was not receding from her cheeks; as I watched, her eyelashes fluttered, and that's when it dawned on me that I was lying on top of her, pinning her arms to the bed and talking about taking off clothes. This was not good, and I was about to make it worse.

"What did we do last night?"

"Huh? Why'd you ask?"

"I... I woke up wearing this purple thingy," I said nervously. "Did... you..."

"_No!_" she gasped, eyes wide. "Oh, Babsy, don't worry about that, I- I would _never _take advantage like that! D-don't say things like that, okay?!"

My eyebrows knitted themselves together. "Then-"

"You were gettin' water all over the place," she laughed nervously. "I... I dunno, I didn't think I should leave you like that, so I... I changed you while you were asleep."

"You _what?!_"

"I'm really sorry!" She was so red - I couldn't believe this! "I mean, I know that's kinda forward of me, but... but I couldn't let ya get sick, could I?"

I took a few deep breaths; I was aware of her wriggling beneath me, and it was a disquieting sensation, but I ignored that for the moment. "Did you... look at me, at all?"

Guilt was all over her face. "How could I not? You're so perfect."

Now my complexion matched my hair, I was sure of it. I'd been feeling slightly embarrassed before, but a comment like that... all the sensations I'd been trying to ignore hit me with devastating force, surging through my veins, and I understood the full implications of Harley having a thing for me. "I- I- Harley, I-"

"Well Christ, I'd like to see _you _change somebody's wet clothes without looking!" she protested, now trying very hard to avoid my eyes. "Just because I didn't hate it to death doesn't mean I was _tryin' _to-"

"That's not the-" I stopped myself, bit my lip for a moment, then let out a shaky breath. "Okay. Okay, I get it; you peeled my dress off, and you did see me n-n-n-"

"Not all the way," she insisted. "I- I couldn't let myself take off your-"

"I noticed." Then I looked back into her eyes, simultaneously relieved and offended (_offended?!_). "Why not?"

"That's..." Her breath had to be at least two hundred degrees. "Babsy, I couldn't. That's... that's too private, I didn't have any right."

"Oh." Then I got past the awkwardness of the idea of Harley undressing me - _not _an easy feat - and came to the other half of the coin. "Oh! Thank you, I'm sorry, I should have said that already. Thanks for cleaning me up and getting me home."

She nodded, still breathing heavily. We stayed that way for several seconds before she cleared her throat and said, "Unless you're planning on takin' this any further, you should probably get offa me."

"_Right!_" I leaped backwards so enthusiastically I almost ended up with my butt inside the television. "Harley, I'm sorry, I- I didn't know you were in here, I didn't even know how I got home in the first place!"

But she didn't say anything. I watched her sit up slowly, hands on her upper biceps, trying not to look at me. My heart started to feel like it was caught in quicksand. Finally, when I couldn't stand it anymore, I said, "So..."

"I'll get outta your way," she said weakly. "Just... just gimme a few minutes."

"No, stay!" I responded too quickly. "I mean, I wouldn't m-mind if you hung around a while."

"This ain't my house anymore, Babs. I should go." She looked up at me for a brief second, smiled, then padded off to the bathroom.

What was I supposed to do _now?_ This whole thing had made last night's proclamation of love all too real. Though I didn't want to make myself go there, I could tell she didn't object in the slightest to me being on top of her; it was kind of creepy, and flattering, and sad all at the same time. I was also kind of irked that she felt that way when it was an accident - how _dare _she! Then again, if Brad Pitt or George Clooney walked into my room and fell on top of me, I'd probably get a little hot under the collar no matter _what _the reason. Not that it was much comfort.

By the time she came back from the bathroom, still wearing my sleep shirt, I'd folded up the couch. "Oh - didn't waste any time, huh?"

"Yeah," I gusted. "Um... I put on a pot of coffee. Want some?"

"Thanks, but I better split," she laughed. "I just... can I borrow some clothes? I don't wanna wear my prom dress home, y'know - let all the kids from school know what happened in the hotel room."

"Sure," I laughed. "Help yourself."

"And I won't get into your underwear drawer, I promise," she told my floor.

"I- I wasn't even thinking that, don't-"

"I was tryin' to be funny," she said miserably. "Kind of a crappy joke, though."

We stood there for a moment like wax replicas of good friends. Even though I wanted to talk, I felt a very strong wish in my heart that she would just go get a pair of slacks and be on her way, and maybe if we put this on hold for a day or two we could more calmly figure out what we-

"D'you hate me for all this? You should hate me, I- I changed the game, or the rules or somethin', and I'm such a big dumbbell!"

"Oh, don't start with this," I sighed. "If I haven't been able to hate you before, why would I pick this as the reason?"

She shrugged, still not looking at me. "I... I'm not a lesbo, y'know."

I blinked. "Wh-what? But no, y- you said-"

"I know, but-" She scratched behind one ear. "Well, I guess maybe I am, but... but I never liked girls _before._ This is a new thing."

"Oh." Now I felt _really _strange. "So it's just... me?"

A slight nod. "Yeah."

The pressure mounted. It's true, her words were that she was _in love _with me - not merely crushing on me, not that she thought I was one of a thousand girls she might bang. My mind went back to my earlier thought that I was the one putting out the vibe; maybe that was true. "Really?"

"No, I just been pullin' yer leg for, y'know, _months._"

"Stop it," I said meekly. "I... I don't know what to say. Nobody's ever... and you're a girl!"

"I know I am," she grunted, finally looking at me. "Some detective. Didn'tcha figure that one out before now?"

"Well, yeah, but... I'm sorry, I'm taking this really bad, I know." The bridge of my nose needed another pinch. "I don't really have any gay friends, or- or anything, and I've just never had to deal with this kind of situation."

"I have," she said quietly. "Once or twice. But... okay, trust me, it's a whole 'nother ball game when you're personally involved."

"I _am _personally involved!"

Her eyes rolled, but I knew she didn't mean to suggest I was being dense (not _this _time, anyway). "Yeah, you are, but I mean- I mean before, it was somethin' I could theorise about, or decide if I thought I agreed with it or whatever you like, but... but now I gotta deal with it, 'cause it's _me._ _I'm _the one who's..."

"Yeah, I'm finding that out." Even though she had dressed me and left my panties alone, I felt very exposed. "I just mean... why me? I've got to be the most undesirab-"

"Don't do that," she said very suddenly. "If you start trying to tell me why you _ain't _a good catch, I'll hafta start in on why you _are,_ and that could get kinda sticky. Trust me, I got reasons."

My heart was pounding. Nothing we were saying was helping; I continued to feel horribly nervous around her, like I was being stalked and I couldn't call for help, though I knew that was absurd. I was beginning to understand a little, but that only made me feel _more _uncomfortable.

"I really, _really _wanna go," she pleaded. "Y... ya got any clean jeans?"

"Just answer me one thing," I said, fighting down the lump in my throat. "Is there any way we could just be friends like this? I mean, I know that's kind of horrendous of me to ask, but- but you moving to Suicide Slums or wherever doesn't sit well with me."

"We've tried, Babs. We tried it, for a long while, and... and we kept comin' back to this."

"But was it so bad? I mean, I know it wasn't exactly easy, but we still had fun, and- and we-"

"I know," she wailed, running a hand through her hair. I noticed her French braids were still there, albeit a little messier than the night previous. "And... um, I guess if I'm really gonna be up front, here, I'm not sure I could take never seeing you again at all. But I dunno if I can stay just friends with you, I want to, but that's..."

I was about to cry again. Too much crying going on lately. Because I didn't know what else to do, I did the only thing I could: threw my arms around her neck and held her like I was trying to crack open a walnut. "I'll do anything, okay? I- I know I've been kinda hard to deal with, and I'm kinda anal retentive, but now I- I think I kinda need you around, because you're- you're kinda my best friend!"

"Babs, please, don't do this," she choked. I noticed her hands weren't touching me. "I'm tryin' so hard to keep my head, but the m-more this happens over and over, one of these times I'm not gonna be-"

"Let it happen!"

Now she pushed me away from her, gaping at my tear-streaked face, starting to redden a touch at the mere notion. "Wh-wh-wh-wha-wha-"

"If- if you need me in that way, I- I want you to have me!" _What in God's name was I SAYING?! I couldn't mean ANY of this!_ "M-maybe I'm making some kind of big mistake here, maybe I'm losing it, b-but every time I think about you being gone, I- I can't breathe! And I c-can't ask you to keep forcing yourself to act like nothing's wrong, so- so you can do whatever you want, just d-don't shut me out of your life, I can't handle it, I-"

_SMACK._

That stung. In all my years, prowling the back alleys of Gotham, I'd scarcely experienced a pain that ran so deep. My hand moved to my face, feeling the raw skin where her hand ran into it. "H-Harley?"

"That's disgusting," she whispered, lip quivering. "D-do you really think I'd up and- God, just do it to take care of myself, even if you didn't want me to? Babsy, I- I could _never _do that, I won't!"

"But it- I don't _know _if I want you to!" Everything I said was scaring me so badly that I started to shake; the hand not on my cheek snatched at the air for a chair, and seconds before I headed for yet another tumble, Harley helped me onto the couch. "And I w-won't know until we try, right? So- so if we-"

"_No!_" she shouted, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Babs, y-you can't know what you're saying, so- so I'm gonna go!"

"Don't go, please!" I sobbed, latching onto her arm. "I... I need you to stay with me, I can't-"

"No, I'm- I'm going before I do something we'll both regret," she croaked; her voice was so hoarse. She hesitated, as if she was going to say something else to me, then pulled out of my grip, strode to the door and left my apartment.

My fingers reached up to where her open hand had struck the side of my face. The room was spinning again. I needed to get that looked at. Actually, what I really needed to examine was the fact that I almost _forced Harley to have sex with me_. What was _that?!_ Did I want to convert, just because my friend did? I could hear my father now: "If that Quinn woman jumped off a bridge..."

But I did know why, in some way. For whatever bizarre, alternate-universe reason, Harley really _was _my best friend, and I didn't want a crush to get in the way of that. If I couldn't make it go away, the option remained that I could embrace it. Was it wise? Maybe not. Fair to myself? Most assuredly not. Would it work?

Yes. If I did this, if I let her do whatever she wanted to with me, convinced her I was okay with it, she'd stay. Maybe it wasn't pleasant, but it would work. The more I thought about it, the more it felt like my only shot.

The door opened, and I nearly wet myself. "_WH-WHA-?!_"

"Sorry," Harley whispered. "I, uh... forgot I wasn't wearin' anything."

I laughed in spite of myself, noticing her bare legs and lack of footwear. "Yeah... yeah, the police might not let you get away with that."

"Why give them a reason to throw me back in Arkham, right?"

We both laughed, smiling warmly. I jumped to my feet. "So, about that coffee-"

"Babs, can you give it a rest?"

"No, I can't, I don't want to. We really need..."

Harley was there, her hand on my cheek, her eyelashes inches from mine. "I'm... I'm sorry for hitting you."

"That's..." If only there was a way to make your heart quit beating without dying! Harley was staring into me, blue halos around dilated pupils. Her breath was sweet on my chin.

"Tell me you love me."

"I- I-" My throat couldn't handle this one, it was too dry. My mouth formed the words, but I couldn't give them any sound.

"What?" she yelped, half daring me to say it out loud, half shocked I'd tried to at all.

"I l-love you," I whimpered.

Once we'd passed that point, only then could I tell she'd been trying to fluster me, to make me admit that I was bluffing. But she could still see through my bluff, anyway. "Oh, Babsy, you- I never, ever had a friend before that'd do somethin' like that for me. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry you gotta go through all this messy-"

"I love you!" I said more strongly, moving my hands up her back.

"You can stop now," she giggled nervously.

"Harley, I-"

Ruby lips were so close, and deep, hypnotic eyes closed for a moment. Then they flung themselves open again, and she half-squeaked, "Okay, ya better cut it out if ya don't want me to take you seriously, 'cos if you keep going-"

"Harley, I- I can't stop!"

Actually, the really funny thing is, me saying that aloud made _both _of us stop. She drew back so as to take in my whole face, and I found myself positively gasping for breath, tingling all over. "Babs?"

"Wh... what did you do to me?" I panted. "I... I was... oh my God, what's going on, here?"

"No," she said firmly. "No, you- I don't want this now, I can't turn you into one o' me. That's... that ain't fair."

"I'm sorry," I gusted, staring at the floor. "But I really can't tell if I just got caught up in the moment, or... or something else. Harley, what if-"

"About that coffee, yeah!" she said brightly, visibly unravelling. "How much sugar ya got? 'Cos I take it really, _really _syrupy, y'know, and-"

"Yes, coffee," I said, clearing my throat. "I... I want nothing more than to drink coffee."

"Coffee is the best."

We both looked at each other, caught the serious looks on our faces, and burst out laughing. We were acting ridiculous; what was the big deal? There wasn't anything that couldn't be discussed calmly and rationally.

But as Harley poured some of my murky brew into a mug, she asked, "So... are you switching teams already?"

"_What?!_"

"Sorry about that," she said through gritted teeth, a pained look on her face. "I... well, I wanted to ease into it, but I couldn't think of a good way. But I think we gotta hash this out, and pronto."

"I agree," I said miserably, crossing my legs under the kitchen chair I was perched in. "No point delaying the hard stuff."

"I won't force you." She started spooning sugar in, concentrating very hard on this task. "I... I can't do that to you, I respect ya too much. Hell, I'm not all that comfortable with the physical part yet, myself!"

A weak laugh came out, even though I wasn't in a humourous mood. "Yeah, I'd say that's the aspect that scares me most, too, but-"

"And listen - I don't want you actin' all brave and 'taking one for the team', 'cos if that's the only way I can have you, well, forget it! That just ain't worth it!"

"Harley-"

"And we _can _be friends again! I know we can, I- I just hafta drink this coffee to settle my nerves, and we, um... won't fall in any more fountains, and everything'll be-"

"Harley, I don't care if we sleep together."

_CLANG._ Coffee ran down off the counter, spreading across my linoleum. "Oops! Clumsy me! Hang on, are the rags still in-"

"I don't _care!_" I was on my feet, chest heaving. "I'm gonna be as honest as I can be right now, knowing that I have no idea what I'm talking about because all rational thought just blew out the window! As long as you promise we can talk, and shop, and watch movies and- and do all that stuff we always do, then I don't care whether or not we're sharing a bedroom, because- because I care too damn much about the rest of you!"

"Well, _I _care!" She turned to me, looking as if she was trying not to scratch my eyes out. She was scary when she was angry, and I backed up a step, causing my chair to scrape across the floor noisily. "I care, because I can't stop thinking about you! Tell me you want me, tell me you don't, but don't sit there and say it doesn't matter 'cos I- it matters to me!"

My heart was thumping in my chest again; didn't take much lately. "But... but I don't think about you that way, Harley," I whispered. "I- I guess it just never occurred to me before, I-"

"Because you're straight. I know, okay? Must be nice. I thought I was too before I started having those special kinda dreams about you."

My face had to be darker than my nightie. "D-dreams? About me?"

"Oh, I am _so _not talkin' about this," she laughed harshly. "That's embarrassment for its own sake."

"Tell me."

Silence. She opened a cabinet, took out a rag and began sopping up the coffee that was slowly staining the countertop. "You ever been to the Lotus Gardens?"

"The what? Oh, right... that restaurant on Johnson Road. What about it?"

"Ever have any desire to dress up in a kimono?"

Were my features _ever _going to be their normal hue again? "Oh, r-r-really? Huh, m-me in a kimono, im-im-imagine that."

"Kinda have already." She threw the rag in the sink, putting a hand on her hip. "See? If _that's _enough to make you all squeamish, what were you gonna do when we hopped in the sack?"

"Wing it?"

She smiled slightly, then frowned. "Babs, I- you are my best friend. Ya gotta be, 'cause any other girl woulda bolted by now. This is some heavy stuff, here."

"You're worth it to me."

Her head tilted slightly, examining me as if a mildly intriguing painting at an art exhibition. "You _sure _you're not in love with me, too? That was some Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn type stuff ya just spewed out."

"I don't know," I said. That made her eyebrows shoot skyward, so I quickly followed up with, "I'm not ruling anything out, that's all. I know you're probably the closest friend I've ever had in my life, and, uh... but love? I've had such precious little experience with it..."

Now that I checked again, Harley was staring straight down into the garbage disposal. "Gosh."

"What?"

"Sorry, I- I'm sorry, only... guess I didn't picture you actually returning my feelings. I mean, I still don't think you are, but I hadn't bothered to entertain that thought at all before."

"Hey," I soothed, standing up and placing a hand on hers. "You know, it's not because you're not a great person, you are! I just... I'm not sure that kind of thing is for me."

"What, gettin' laid?"

"Hey!"

"Kidding, kiddo," she giggled, finally really looking at me like she used to before this stress. "And I get that, it makes sense. I freaked, too."

"Can you... wait for me?"

"Hmm?"

Fuzzy socks were soaking up coffee as I stood in the middle of a brown puddle, fidgeting with my thumbnail. "You said we can be friends. You also said you love me, and that I could love you back if I actually was in love and not faking it."

"W-well, I didn't exactly _say-_"

"So... so I don't know yet. Can you wait until I figure it out?"

Veins were popping out on her head. "Babsy, I- I don't- you shouldn't even be in this position. You should be marrying your dream beau by now, being hauled over the threshold and gearin' up to pop out a few babies."

"Babies?!" I gasped, reeling at the idea. Harley laughed. "No, no, maybe I _should _hook up with you to avoid _that _idea."

"What?" She blinked at me. "Y... you don't want any kids?"

"Not really." I scratched at my arm. "Or maybe someday, a little further down the road when I'm in a more mothering state of mind, but... but not anytime soon, that's for sure. Why, do you?"

"You know I do," she said shyly, looking down into her coffee mug. "Kinda tried to adopt a Robin once upon a time."

"Oh, yeah," I muttered. "Been trying to forget about that."

"But it sounds nice, I think... pitter-patter of li'l feet. Changing diapers is no picnic, but I practically did that to you last n-"

"Stop it, that's not funny!" She was still laughing when I restated my proposition. "So... can you wait?"

"I..." Teeth sank into her bottom lip. "Yeah, okay. I... I'm gonna have to apologise in advance if I kind of accidentally... go too far, or say somethin' weird or lesbo-ish once in a while, but- but I can. I'll wait."

"Thank you." A lump worked its way into my throat. "Also, is it still permissible to hug you, because all this is more than a little painful and I'm starting to-"

Her arms were already around me, moving up and down my back. It was a real bear hug, her knuckles pressing into my flesh, trying to shatter me to pieces. "Babsy, no matter what, you can always ask for one o' these. I owe you my life and all."

"Well, I th-think we're even, now," I blubbered into her shoulder. "I helped you keep it moving forward, and now I'm asking you to hit pause. Even trade, right?"

"Don't be dumb; I'm not keepin' score."

"That's good news for me, because from where I'm sitting, you'd have all the points. God, Harley, I'm so lucky to know you, I can't believe you're willing to do this for me!"

The waver in her voice was very slight, but I caught it. "Anything for you, mi amiga."

END SESSION


	12. Horrifying Harley Harem

Session Twelve: Horrifying Harley Harem

Let's get this sad fact out of the way: I didn't see Harley for over a week after that. Repulsive, isn't it? Here we made this huge step to make sure we stayed friends, and then she blows me off. What did we go through all that for?

But in all seriousness, I appreciated it, even though I would rather have seen her once or twice. She was trying to give me space to make up my mind. Not that it was going to happen in one week; this was a huge thing I was having to deal with. Still, I got why she was doing it, so I appreciated it.

Could I be in a serious, intimate relationship with a woman? My knee-jerk reaction to the idea was pretty much "_ewwww!_" Sorry to all you crusaders for the equality of sexual orientation and preference, but the very idea makes me nauseous. Not that I'm saying other people can't do it, that's fine - this is _me._ Thinking about feeling my skin against another woman's only made me feel extremely creeped out.

But when I thought about Harley specifically, it wasn't so bad. She wasn't just any human female; she was my best friend! Nothing about her was necessarily offensive physically. I knew I could trust her by now; she didn't take advantage of me when I pretty much threw my pelvis in her face. However, the fact remained that I wasn't interested in exploring sex with a woman. So why did I hate the idea less when it was Harley? Did I secretly think her body and hers alone was one I could get to know better? Was she the one?

Nothing made me more uneasy than thinking about Harley in the Biblical sense. You might be saying, "Then don't think about it!" Easy for _you _to say - it's the _entire issue _that had separated us. We both thought of the other as kind, bright, enjoyable, more or less dependable... and cute, sure. We were dedicated to looking out for each other, and we fit really well. We couldn't imagine cutting the other person out of our lives entirely, because our bond had become too integral to simply sever all ties. That describes both a lifelong friendship... and soulmates. So the difference really is, "Where does this relationship _end?_"

Harley already had her answer. I was searching for mine.

This was not at all helped by the fact that ever since she told me about her dreams, I started having a few of my own. Harley as a knight on a white horse... Harley as a brave cowboy, dying in my arms... Harley as the Iron Chef (I think that had more to do with the Iron Chef marathon I had watched that night than any secret romantic feelings). I'd wake up in a cold sweat every time, and once or twice I was very dismayed to notice two points of _"WHOA!"_ sticking out from my nightshirt, and it certainly wasn't cold in my bedroom. She was on my mind constantly.

Bruce began to notice I was distracted, but I think he sensed it was Harley-related and did not pursue the matter. During my rounds, I would go long periods without speaking, and he'd usually have to prompt me to check in. The team didn't seem complete anymore. We needed her - and I think we still needed Tim, too, even though Bruce had said he was off the team with Batman-worthy finality. Being an avenger of the night had become a lonely business.

During this time, an old adversary (and welcome distraction) resurfaced - The Scarecrow. That was a blast. For about three days, he had half of Gotham City running for the hills every time they heard the word "ravioli". At first, I thought it was the Russian mob's doing, trying to undermine the Italians. Scarecrow hadn't become much saner.

But I guess I should tell you about a funny thing that happened when we were taking down Scarecrow... because it wasn't so much "funny" as "exacerbating".

. . ᴥ . .

"Our surveillance puts him at the Gotham Water Works," he was grunting as we careened through narrow alleys, missing trash cans and homeless people by a hair's breadth. If anyone other than Bruce had been driving, I'd probably have passed out from fright. "That's how he's been doing it, after all."

"Odorless and tasteless," I repeated. "Really? A psychoagent like that?"

"Professor Crane is no rookie."

We rode on in silence the entire way to the Water Works. Then, only when we had parked the Batmobile and mounted the roof of a nearby building did Bruce ask, "What do you think about Harley?"

"What?!" I gasped, dropping my batrope. "I- what do you mean? She's my friend, and that's all! No qualifiers to add!"

Though I couldn't see the eyebrow, I knew it had gone up. "Hmm..."

"Wait... what are you talking about, exactly?"

"Well, I thought I was talking about whether or not we should reinstate her as The Lark," he said with a slight smirk. "Maybe I wasn't...?"

"You were, believe me," I panted. "Totally, the whole time."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" My batrope back in hand, I said, "And... and yeah, I think we should. She hasn't ended up with any more stolen goods in her possession since then, has she? Maybe we haven't caught whoever was framing her before, but I'd assume if she really _was _stealing, we'd have noticed her doing it again by now."

"That would be rather interesting." His hand went to his chin. "The theft stops when the heroine is no more. If someone had a personal grudge against-"

"Heya!"

"_Harley!_" I gasped, falling straight back onto my ass.

"_Shh!_" she hissed, glancing around frantically. "I'm incognito, right? I thought we weren't supposed ta use real names!"

"Oh," I panted, glancing at her costume as I rubbed my sore tailbone. She was decked out for a fight. "Wait, how- how did you get your Lark suit back?"

"It never left," she said quietly. "I mean, I handed in the one from the Batcave, but this was stashed under the couch; I grabbed it when I moved out. You're- you're not mad, are ya, Brucey?"

"Hmmh," he snorted, lips pursed.

"I only showed up in case you guys wanted a hand," she rushed ahead. "I'll disappear if I hafta, I promise."

"It's fine," said Bruce. "In fact, I'm not sure there's any need for you to stay off the team to begin with."

There was a brief moment of silence. "What?"

"With the diamonds being purely circumstantial evidence, there's little to hold against you at this point." He was watching her _very _shrewdly. "Don't begin to think this means I have no reservations whatsoever. Trust is at a premium."

"No, I get that," she babbled. "I mean, yeah, I mean- oh, this is great, super-keen! Thanks, Brucey, I won't let ya down!"

"Promises, promises," he muttered.

The three of us perched on the roof in silence, watching the sprawling treatment plant for any sign of life. Finally, Bruce said, "There, on the second floor. A moving shadow."

"I don't see it," I whispered. "But I believe your eyes. Ready?"

He nodded. "You?"

"Yeah."

He almost stood before turning and saying, "Lark?"

"Roger!"

Again, his lips pursed. Then, in one fluid motion, he turned back toward the target building, fired his batrope launcher and swung out of sight.

"Sorry," she whispered. Only now did I notice the catch in her voice; she'd hit it quite well when Bruce was present. "I... I was trying the mask on again, thinking about how- believe it or don't, how I actually missed this, and- well, I heard you guys talking about this on the communicator before you met up, so I tailed the Batmob-"

"It's fine, Harley. I'm... glad you're here, actually."

She blinked. "You sure? But I got everything all-"

"You're who you are," I assured her. "Don't apologise for that, it's a good thing. Now, let's go make sure this Scarecrow never sees the wizard!"

"Ooh, nice one!" she giggled as we made to follow Bruce. "What's next, 'let's knock the straw outta him'?"

"You couldn't let me deliver one clichéd superhero line without rubbing it in my face, could you?"

It was pitch black inside; I guess the Water Works had no night shift. Everything had a damp spoor, even though we entered through the ceiling; it permeated every square inch of the place. Turns out we had infiltrated some kind of supply closet. Bruce was waiting by the door for us. Hand signals; batarangs out, eyes sharp, he would go in first. I would follow. Harley would take up the position of rear guard. Suited me fine.

The nod. In we went.

Batman swept down one hallway, and I took the other. It was strange; as much as Harley had been making my pulse go up lately, right now I was deadly calm, as if Scarecrow was no more than an irritating regular at my job who wanted to check out nothing but John Grisham novels (we have at least six of those people) and got all flustered when we told them they were already out. We'd done all this before. Scarecrow was easy pickings.

When I opened the next door, I heard a _THUNK!_ and felt cold. _Ooh!_ What happened?! Had he attacked already? I sputtered; water. It was all over me, and I was choking on it. Hurriedly, I wiped it away from my face, glancing around frantically; he had to be nearby if he was squirting me. A bucket lay on the floor. No. He couldn't be that juvenile, could he? The bucket-of-water-over-the-door trick? Looked that way. My cape sagged slightly from wetness, and I shook out my hair. He thought we were playing. I'd catch up to him and make sure he _knew _we weren't.

Two more rooms in this hallway. Three. They were all empty. I met Batman where the hallways met, and his frown matched mine. Nada.

"What now?" I mouthed.

He thought for a moment. "Lark," he hissed into his gauntlet.

"What's up?" I jumped when her voice whispered into in my ear, but I shouldn't have; that was how she found out we were coming here.

"Meet up with us here at the stairway to the next floor and stand guard; we're headed down."

"Gotcha."

"Let's hope he's still here," I breathed.

"He is," said Bruce as we pelted down the stairs, stopping before the door to the next floor. Harley was making herself more or less comfortable, batarang clutched between her nervous hands; being out of practice had not lent her any additional courage. "This ravioli business of his is too important for him to leave it unguarded - at least through the night."

"Yeah. Okay, ready."

We repeated the same procedure. I was beginning to sweat. Where _was _he? This was the second floor, wasn't it? Zip in the first four rooms. I expected Batman to signal any moment that he'd found him, but he was nowhere, he-

A surprise was waiting for me in the fifth room. There was a shadow in the corner. "Scarecrow!" I hissed, batarang already in hand. "Hands where I can see them, or you're going to lose a-"

"Close the door."

That was a female voice. "Excuse me?"

"Hurry!"

What was this? Some kind of joke? Another thought hit me - a hostage? If Scarecrow had her wired to a bomb and heard me talking to her, he might set it off immediately - and she'd told me to close the door. Glancing behind me, I did so, but I remained tense, ready to strike.

"Are you all right?" I asked first, feeling around for a light switch. I found it, flipped it, but no lights came on.

"I can't believe you're asking me that." The voice was so familiar, yet sounded hollow, toneless. "You know I'm not all right like this."

Footsteps; she was coming closer. "What is this?" I asked, my hand straying toward my belt buckle. "Are you working for Scarecrow? Where _is _he?"

"Still talking about men," she laughed. "I don't want to talk about them. I want to talk about _us._"

A thin shaft of light from the window in the door fell across a patch of bare skin; it looked like a stomach, finely toned and trim. Sweat was soaking my suit. What was going on, who was this?! "St-stay right there! If y-you come any clos-"

"Don't say that," she laughed. "You want me to come. You always have."

Hands touched my shoulders. Lips brushed my cheek. A knee was sliding up my thigh. "W-wait a minute, what's g-"

"Tell me you love me."

The batarang fell from my limp fingers. "_HARLEY?!_ No, what- what are you _doing?!_ You're supposed to be at the bottom of the stairs, watching our backs, making sure-"

"The only back I want to watch," she said throatily, "is yours, Batbooty."

Two steps took me out of her reach, and now I could just barely see a blonde pigtail within the shadows. Every inch of her skin glistened, as if she'd used up two bottles of baby oil moments ago. She was wearing nothing - not a stitch. Vague whites were all I could see of her eyes, but her tongue was tracing its way around her lips, moistening them, teasing me.

"Turn around for me."

"No," I breathed, reaching for the doorknob - but it was gone. _There was no doorknob._ She'd trapped me in here! I spun around, scrabbling at the blank plate where the knob should be. "No, I- no, wait, I d-d-"

"That's it," she giggled, dancing forward and just barely brushing my backside. "I like that - a girl who takes orders."

"You are way, _way _out of line!" I gasped, staggering into the middle of the room and looking around for another way out. The psychosis - it was really back this time, she was so far gone! What should I do? Bruce; I needed to push the button, activate my distress beacon, but what if he was busy grappling with Scarecrow and I distracted him at a crucial moment? "Where are your clothes?!"

"Where are yours?"

At first, I was going to ask her what the hell she was babbling about, but then I suddenly noticed the room was a lot colder than it had been seconds ago. Looking down, I became concerned that my Batgirl costume had vanished, leaving me wearing nothing but a terrified expression.

_"AAAAAAAAGH!"_

"Now there's nothing between us." Harley's body was unhidden by any shadows now, though I was trying so hard not to look at it that I only saw snatches of flesh. With unparalleled grace and poise, she came to me, draped her form over mine. "No clothes, no inhibitions. Kiss me."

"_No!_" I shouted, shoving her face away from mine, trying not to register the bizarre sensation of two patches of pubic hair lightly brushing. "N-no, Harley get off, don't- don't make me-"

"Don't make you what? Happy?"

Just as her hand approached my chest, fingers flexing, I flung her off with what little strength I had against her, but this proved to be a double-edged sword - I fell hard, bruising my shoulder. Crawling was my only choice; I couldn't stand anymore, my knees were useless. Inch by inch I made my way toward the door-

But she was there, waiting, legs parted. "Are you coming for me? Need a drink? Drink of me."

"_Augh!_" This was only getting worse; I turned around, but she was already there, staring down at me.

"You can be on the bottom if you like," she said with a sinister smile. "Do you want to be dominated?"

"Please, just- how are you-"

"Relax," said a voice next to my ear - Harley's voice. But Harley was in front of me, wasn't she? My neck hair felt like electricity was surging through it, both from the unsettling sensation that there seemed to be more than one of her and from the titillating feel of breath in my ear. "There's no one here but you and your heart's desire."

"This _isn't _my heart's desire!" I whimpered, watching as two more Harleys stepped out from the corners, caressing their glistening flesh, winking at me. "This- this isn't real, it's- _no, this is wrong!_"

"Hold her down."

"Gladly."

Two strong sets of hands pressed into my arms, pinning them to the floor. A moment later, two more Harleys forced my legs apart, pulling more and more, opening me wider and wider. I screamed, I struggled more and more violently, but no one else came, they did not listen. Neither did they laugh at me nor mock me; they just kept working toward an eventual goal I could not allow to happen.

"You'll love this," the Harley who was climbing on top of me whispered hotly, head resting just between my bosoms. "Just love it."

"_Help!_" I screamed desperately, unable to think, unable to feel anything else but skin and terror. "_NO, PLEASE GOD, HELP, SOMEBODY STOP THIS, PLEASE-"_

I heard a splintering sound, but they did not stop for it. Then, to my surprise, I saw another Harley, and this one was dressed in her old, discarded jester outfit. "Batgirl, are you okay?"

"_NO, GET AWAY FROM ME, STOP, I CAN'T-"_

Her hands were on either side of my face, her face right beside that of the naked Harley, the one whose hand was just dipping between my thighs. The jester Harley had fangs, long, dripping, poisonous fangs that were going to chew my face off. "Babsy, they- they got to you, didn't they?"

"_No more Harleys!_" I sobbed, trying to wriggle my hips away from the ministrations. They made me burn, felt so unforgivably intense that I hated myself for every wave of dark pleasure that rippled out from them. "_No- no more, I- DON'T DO THIS TO ME!!_"

_SLAP._

The room came into focus. All the disrobed Harleys faded slightly, becoming translucent and ghost-like. Meanwhile, the one in the old harlequin costume was now dressed as the Lark, and no fangs were present. "Oh... ow, I- b-but-"

"Babsy, come on, snap out of it, please!" she wailed, eyes full of pain and fright. "We- we gotta go, we gotta help Bru- uhh, Batman!"

"Batman?" I looked down; I was clothed. My costume was right where I left it... and I could move freely, nobody was holding me down. "B-b-but what's going on? How did-"

"You got gassed or whatever," she whispered, jerking me to my feet. Half-thoughts of Harleys with shining bodies faded in and out of obscurity, but they wouldn't disappear completely. "I- I didn't know what else to do, I didn't mean to slap you- not again, 'cos I think maybe I've been hittin' you in the face too much lately, but what-"

"It's okay," I sighed shakily, finally letting it all sink in. "I... I was under Scarecrow's spell. Wow, that- that's potent stuff, I can't- wow."

"Babsy?"

"Huh?"

"What did you mean, 'no more Harleys'?"

Oh, great. This couldn't be explained away that easily; I didn't want to tell her the full story, because it sounded extremely bad either way I spun it. What should I say? "Oh, I- I saw you attacking me. Lots of Harleys attacking me, it- it was scary."

"I'd never attack you!" she gasped - before blanching. "But- but I have done it a couple times recently, I guess. Boy, some friend I am! Oughtta quit smackin' you around."

"No, it's- no, nevermind. It's nothing, forget it - I'm okay. L-let's just go help Batman."

She took a deep breath, trying to erase the strangeness of the moment and refocus. "Yeah, let's go."

Both of us sprinted down the hallway, and as we reached the corner the sounds of a struggle reached my ears - he'd found him. Stairs flew under our feet, and once on the ground floor we found our perpetrator.

Batman was tying him up, an annoyed-but-triumphant expression on his face. Several batarangs lie across the cement floor, and a few phials of an acidic-looking substance were leaking their contents on said floor, as well. Scarecrow looked slightly unhappy; the edges of that cloth sack he used for a mask were especially frayed, and his feet were kicking as best as they still could.

"You meddlesome, interfering, pointy-eared _wart!_ My research is vastly more important than a few citizens' peace of mind, I can't understand why you-"

"Then maybe you aren't such a good psychologist," said Bruce coldly.

"I'll get my revenge," the man growled nastily. "Once my treatment is perfected, I shall escape, and then you'll-"

"Oh, save it for the police report."

"Yayyy!" said Harley, carefree and energetic as ever. "We _got _'im, we _got _'im!"

"Yeah," I laughed shakily. The slight dampness in the lower half of my undergarments was distracting me from celebrating - _GOD,_ what a horrible thing to do to a person!

"And you," he seethed, turning on us. "Batman's Batfloozies! I cannot conceive of how a man whom keeps such company is able to best-"

_SLAM._

"Batgirl," said Bruce warningly, "that was unnecessary."

"Sorry, Boss," I said breathlessly, taking my hand off his head and pretending I didn't notice the blood leaking from his nose onto the ground beneath it. "Just... needed to expend some excess energy."

. . ᴥ . .

It was my doing this time that Harley and I didn't see each other for another week. Wimping out was my new strategy, I guess. How could I face her? A harem of Harleys had tried to gang-rape me - that was my worst fear, according to a healthy dose of Dr Crane's diabolical chemicals. I had trouble thinking about talking to her without breaking out into a sweat and fighting the impulse to hide under my bed. That could be a teensy problem. Best to let things cool off for a while.

When I wasn't dodging her calls or running from my building when I saw her waiting in front of my door, I was kicking my exercise regimen into high gear. Toning those abs and deltoids at least helped distract me somewhat. As soon as I stopped, however, everything came crashing back down and I had to deal with it all over again. What fun!

Through Bruce, I learned Harley had been training on her own, as well, logging hours of practise in the martial arts, weights, gymnastics and yoga. She was determined to not make either of us regret our decision to put her back out in the field. Secretly, even though the very thought of my pigtailed friend gave me the shakes, I was more than aware of the swell of pride I got thinking about her doing her darndest for God and country this way. Our prodigy was living up to the hype. Her father and I were so proud!

And then, of course, there was my decision. I didn't get any closer to making one. A bevy of sex-crazed Harleys, remember?! No matter how diligently I strove to leave that out of the equation, I couldn't even picture her without seeing three or four more. Disturbing doesn't cover it.

Try devastating. Or aggravating. Or bewildering. Or suffering - that was the best, the most accurate. I was suffering in a big way. At that point, it would have been easier to say I was in love with her and get on with it, because I was obsessing over her in the same manner. What's the difference?

She knew. She knew something was wrong, some dark cloud was perched on my head - she would have to be a complete airhead to miss it. How do you tell your best friend who's in love with you that sleeping with them so happens to be your deepest, darkest fear?

Bruce knew, too. At least, he knew _something _was up; he was always trying to get us to take the night watch together. I'd been working with him too long _not _to see through this plan, so I kept inventing excuses why I couldn't take that side of town, or do it that night, or... God, it was a mess, and every time I did it I only felt more horrible afterward.

Not that this continued forever. As I already mentioned, I did see Harley a week later... and it was no barrell of monkeys.

. . ᴥ . .

For some reason, the hair on the back of my neck was standing on end as I approached the door to my apartment. Something wasn't right. Fumbling for my key, I glanced behind me as I inserted it into the lock, and I heard the familiar "_CLICK!_" of it sliding back. If someone _had _broken in, they locked the door behind them.

Then, as I stepped over the threshold, I heard a "_THUMP!_" behind me, and I whirled to find-

"Wha-"

"_Boo!_"

"_AAAGH!_"

"Sorry, Babsy," Harley laughed as I clutched at my chest. "Didn't expect ta actually get the drop on ol' Bee Gee, but wow! New things happen every day, I guess!"

"You scared the freaking be_JESUS_ outta me, you dumbass!" I growled, punching her on the shoulder as hard as I could. "How did you _do-_"

"It was nothin'," she said modestly, as if she'd actually done something incredibly clever and didn't want to toot her own horn. "I was up on the ceiling is all."

"_Augh,_ I hate you so much right now!" My breathing didn't slow. As I stood there, staring at her as if I were trying to discover my latent power of heat vision, I started to get over her surprise attack - but then I had to concentrate on her being so close, on her bemused smile. My breathing didn't slow, and wasn't going to. "Wh-what do you want, anyway?"

"To hang out, maybe? I have a hot tip that DJ Polar is gonna be spinning at the Sanctum tonight; he's supposed to be the best in Gotham."

"I- I'm not much of a dancer." At least it was the truth.

"All ya gotta do is move," she giggled, swaying her hips a little and lifting her hands above her head. Low-rise jeans, red halterneck... she was ready to go. "Anybody can fake their way through it, I swear."

"Harley," I sighed, turning away and trying not to think about why I didn't want to watch her dance much longer. "I would, but... I don't know, I feel kind of out of it. Write me a raincheck?"

"Oh," she said. Simply that. When I didn't prompt her with more words for a few long, torturous seconds, she said, "You wanna... talk, or something?"

"Maybe some other time. Sorry, I just... I'm exhausted." Maybe this was only a half-truth instead of blatant falsehood; it had been a pretty arduous day at the library. That was little comfort to my conscience.

"Okay. Yeah, we'll... yeah. See ya."

I stood there in my doorway, listening to her muffled footsteps sound through the dated carpeting in my hallway. She was almost to the stairs. I wanted to see her; I wanted to look at her, for just a moment. Why? I knew what she looked like, but I'd spent so many seconds avoiding it that I suddenly felt like I needed to offset those. Swallowing hard, I spun to look-

She was waiting for that. _Damn!_ That blonde head was turned just enough for a single blue eye to peer straight at me as she stood awkwardly at the top of the stairs, one Manolo tilted slightly out to the side. For a second, I almost called out to her, apologised for everything - hell, another impulse begged for me to tear down the hallway and bowl her over. In my heart, I hoped she would turn around and run to me instead, make me quit acting like a spineless jellyfish and talk things out.

Four fingers showed just past her upper arm. Waving. She was waving at me. Then she went down the stairs.

"_Stupid!_" I hissed aloud, slamming the door. Something had to pay, even if it was an inanimate piece of my apartment. "What are you _doing?!_ Just _talk _to her; act like you are familiar with the English language! Who cares if you still can't make up your mind?! Anything's better than standing here... talking to yourself like an utter _freak!_"

Very quickly, my ragged, angry breathing gave way to quiet sobs of pain as I slid down the inside of my front door. I felt cold all over, isolated, and more than anything I wished my fairy godmother would float down from on high and make all this resolve itself. But that was never going to happen; I needed my own plan. First, I had to get over my horrifying experience at the Water Works. Second, I had a choice to make. There. A plan.

Easier said than done.

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

The door wasn't open. She'd said it would be, but it wasn't. I had to open it myself - it was a very, very hard door to open. So I knocked.

"Yes?" she said once it was open a crack. Her thin eyebrows spiked upward in mild surprise. "Harley!"

"Heya, Doc," I sobbed. Every time I wiped at my face, my hands came away coated in mascara, but I couldn't see if I didn't do that. "D-do ya have a minute?"

"Of course," she said softly, standing back to admit me. Though I knew the pained look in her eyes should lend me a smidgen of comfort, all I felt was misery.

"Well, to be honest," I began as I sank into the couch, "this... might take more than a minute, because I- I ain't got a clue what I'm supposed to do anymore! I hope ya d-don't mind me droppin' in unannounced like this."

"Not at all; I'm glad you did." As she promised, she did not go for her tape recorder when she picked up her clipboard and pen. "Go ahead."

END SESSION


	13. Chlorine With Consequences

Session Thirteen: Chlorine With Consequences

June came sooner than I expected. The weather was so warm now that Jared and some of my other co-workers were planning a pool party in some friend-of-a-friend's swanky penthouse. Sounded amazing, like fun on a stick. I wasn't interested.

Life had become completely hollow. Nothing had any palette, no colour or texture. I was living in tofu-land, and I had to do something to shake this off, but what? Every time I thought about anything, no matter how trivial or unrelated, I would think about Harley. And thinking about Harley meant...

Could I be in love with a woman? No. That was stupid. But was it? Everything I thought I knew, everything I took for granted as The Way Of Things... it all had to be called into question. And I wasn't attracted to her, not at all! Sure, she was pretty, had dazzling blue eyes, a cute button-ish nose, and every curve of her body was as sweet and decadent as a chocolate-covered strawberry- and then I would slap myself about the face and start pacing again. Every time, that's where I ended up - pacing and thinking, wearing a groove in the floor.

Were these ideas planted? Could it be that just because someone _asked _whether or not I found Harley attractive, that as I thought more and more about it, I keyed myself up and _made _myself start liking her? That was too convenient an excuse; you couldn't psych yourself into thinking someone or something was beautiful. More beautiful than it _was,_ perhaps, but it has to have at least a semblance of beauty to begin with, right?

But we were friends. That is, I thought we were, but lately I'd been a pretty disappointing one. Blowing her off when she wanted to go to a club was a new low; avoiding her was bad enough, but lying to her face? Of _course _I wanted to go! I hated the idea of trying to dance in front of her, but secretly I knew Harley would find some shamanic way to turn it around and make me feel even better about myself _because _I had two left feet!

Back to the beginning of the vicious loop. Why did she have that power to make me feel so confident, so... good? All my life, I'd never known anyone who could make me feel like that. Bruce came close, but that was more along the lines of inspiring me to better myself - not bolstering my self-esteem. If I admitted that somebody who could do that would have to be more than a casual acquaintance, then I'd be saying...

Cue the pacing.

For lack of something better to do, I told Jared I'd RSVP. He seemed interested in me going _with _him, but I flat out told him I was off the market. When he asked why, I considered telling him I was living in a convent, but figured that shouldn't be necessary - a simple "none of your business" would suffice. When the call ended, I tried to decide whether I should make myself a cup of ramen noodles or go back to pacing.

And then it rang again.

"Oh, hey!" I said nervously, already having almost dropped the cell twice since seeing Harley's number on the caller I.D. "What's up?"

"I, um, don't mean to be a pain in the butt, but I was wondering if... you'd seen that new Hugh Jackman movie? The one with all the banjo-playing-"

"No, sorry, I, uh, don't think I've actually been to the movies in a few weeks. I don't even know what's playing!"

"Oh," she laughed. "Well, so... whaddaya think? Friday night, maybe? I mean, I totally don't-"

"Shit! Sorry," I said earnestly. "But... I already promised I'd go to this stupid pool party with the work crowd. I think Jared would fillet me alive if I bailed now."

"Right." Several seconds passed. That happened a lot with us lately, in case you hadn't picked up on that by now. "W-well, I didn't mean to-"

"Harley, wait!" I blurted, not really knowing what to follow up with.

"Hmm?"

"I... I don't..." I took a deep breath, but my lungs didn't seem to notice. Just tell her you miss talking to her. Tell her you're sorry for being a flake. "Y- Do you maybe wanna come?"

"C-come again?" That was like being impaled on a spearhead; she didn't think she'd heard me correctly, that I hated her so much I couldn't possibly be asking her along. "Did you say-"

"I did say," I made myself say. Lord Almighty, what had I done? But it was too late to un-ask, and maybe, just maybe, a night of cannonballs and piña coladas would get us over our little hurdle. "You've already met some of them, right? It's... at a penthouse, should be pretty wild."

"But I- I ain't invited, Babsy, I wouldn't wanna crash like some frat boy with too much-"

"You'd be my guest." Now I was just being reckless; where were the brakes on this thing?! "You could, y'know... kind of be my date, right?"

No response. Had the line gone dead? I pulled away to check; my bars were full. Ice flooded the pit of my stomach - I'd shoved my foot down my throat again. "Harley? Hello?!"

"Y-yeah, I'm here, sorry! I just... are you sure?"

"Why not? A girl can take another girl to a party; it's the nineties, right?"

"Um... actually, that decade ended a decade ago, but if you _want _it to be the nineties I could wear a flannel shirt?"

"Oh, shut up and tell me if you're coming already!"

She laughed; a really joyful laugh, as if I'd just took a giant bottle of Easy-Off BAM! and erased the past three months. "Yeah, I'll be there. Should I bring anything? D'you wanna pick me up, or should I hop the-"

"No, no, I'll pick you up," I spewed forth. My foot had to have reached my stomach by now; I'm good at that, I think it's my gift. "Around- around six?"

"Yeah! Be here with bells on!"

"That's Catwoman who wears those, Harl."

"Right, right," she giggled. "Get yer rogue's gallery straight, Lark! Well... see ya then!"

"Bye!" I said, clapping my phone shut before I could do any more damage.

My fists immediately went into my red locks, tugging hard. _Date?! Pick you up at six?! _It was like my mouth had made a suicide pact with my heart, bypassing the gray matter entirely. How could she _not _misconstrue my intentions with phrases like those?! What was I going to do, buy a tuxedo and a corsage?!

As my thinning floorboards creaked under my feet, threatening to dump me onto the raucous couple below if I didn't stop pacing, another happy thought almost sent me into conniptions. This was a pool party. I was taking somebody I may or may not find desirable to a pool party, where she would be wearing-

My hand came into contact with my face again.

. . ᴥ . .

This was going to be done very simply. I had a simple one-piece bathing suit in a tasteful aquamarine under a ratty pair of Daisy Dukes and a Garfield babydoll shirt. I didn't stress over my flip-flops; whatever was in the bottom of the closet. Simple. The less complicated I made things, the less crucial it all seemed, and the more likely I was to relax. Sound logic, I thought.

I'd been sitting at a stop sign for five minutes. One block down and I'd be visible from Harley's window. This was my last chance to get my head on straight.

Straight. Could I do that if I wasn't? Reason told me to turn the car around - or better yet, send it into reverse, honking, impatient commuters be damned. Luckily, I was prepared for one thing, at least; my beachtowel was made to soak up a bucketfull of sweat every few seconds.

Harley and I were friends. That came first. Whether or not I believed we _could _become anything else was relegated to the back; I wanted to have a nice time tonight. That would be next to impossible if I spent every moment worrying about silly things like-

_"HEY, LADY! YOU ASLEEP AT THE WHEEL?!"_

Mr Tolerance got the finger for his answer.

Harley waved from her window when I pulled up; she'd been waiting patiently for me to fight the impulse to turn tail. As I waited for her to emerge, I mopped my brow one last time and drank an entire bottle of Evian in one gulp. There, rehydrated.

"Hey!" she laughed, bouncing into my car and slamming the door. "Sorry it took me so long; Mr Crabtree's shih tzu tried to eat my sarong. That little bugger's not even supposed ta be living here!"

As it happens, she was wearing a sarong; a deep blue with an intricate flower pattern in a lighter shade. "The dog has nice taste, though; where'd you get that?"

"A secondhand shop," she said airily. "It's just up the street - can you believe that? This place was a blessing and a half, I'm tellin' ya!"

I am so relieved to tell you that the whole ride there was smooth and more or less comfortable. Anxieties that had been screaming before were whispering now, and by the time we got in the elevator to go up to Jared's place, I'd forgotten to care about things like sexuality.

"Okay, Babs, now... I need ya to let me know if you oughtta be giving me the keys right about now."

"No," I said firmly. "I think I've had enough alcohol for... well, ever. What did I have that night, two daiquirís, a cosmo and a White Russian?"

"_And _a Jägerbomb." Her nose crinkled. "Well, that was after two o' the others, but I still think you had to be a few fries short of a Happy Meal to try one."

"I had a Jägerbomb?!" I asked in astonishment.

_DING!_

"Oh, here we are," she said nervously as the door slid open to reveal a brightly-lit hallway. She almost tripped as she exited. "Are... are we late, or early? What's-"

"Chill out," I laughed, pressing the button for the doorbell. "You're fine, I'm sure they remember you."

"Is that a good thing or a ba-"

"_Barbie!_"

Great; with all my acid reflux over the "date" with Harley, I'd forgotten whose penthouse we would be spending the evening in. "Hey, Leonard."

"What's shaking with you?" he laughed painfully, all teeth and unibrow as per usual. For a reason known to him alone, he thought his three or four gold chains offset his chest hair nicely. If only he could make up for these unfortunate combinations with something like a personality... "This party's not quite turned on yet, but then again, you weren't here yet!"

"Oy, this guy's a riot," laughed Harley - by now I could recognise it as her pity-laugh. "Who writes yer material?"

The look he gave Harley lingered too long on everything but her face. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your fine friend, here?"

"Harley, Leonard." That was all he got.

"Hello, hello, hello," he cooed, leaning against the door jamb. "Harley; what a beautiful name. Well, mi casa es su casa!"

If he weren't watching us both like hawks, I would chance rolling my eyes. Harley was still smiling politely. "Gracias! Donde esta el baño?"

He chortled, that single eyebrow knitting. "What's that?"

"Si, si! Eres un estúpido vagabundo!"

"Harley, quit showing off," I laughed harshly, having at least understood "estúpido" and not wanting to wait for Leonard to catch on. "So, direct us to the pool?"

"Sure thing; right this way, ladies."

That was probably a grimace on my face. "Can't you just tell us?"

"Oh, quit joshing around," he said, elbowing me rather hard in the arm. "Come on in."

Both of us had to gasp when we saw it; almost half the square footage of Leonard's penthouse was outdoor, separated in the living room by a glass wall. The rest of it was devoted to a deck that sported several umbrella-topped tables, a huge barbecue grill pouring out copious amounts of white smoke, and an offensively-huge pool that already had nearly a dozen occupants; Jared was there, and so was Michelle from the uptown branch. There was also a hot tub, and our head librarian, Mr Nance, was lounging in it. He may have been asleep.

"You're kind of early," said Leonard, gesturing for us to help ourselves to his wetbar. "But then again, so is half the gang, as you can well see."

"Nothing for me, thanks," I groaned.

Harley, however, paused. "Umm... can I get a margarita? All that Spanish put me in the mood."

"Salt's right over there," Leonard said with yet another cheesy grin as he moved toward the deck (and, I suspect, Michelle).

"Really, Harley?" I whispered. "We're switching roles?"

"Hey, I didn't say I was gonna have _eight _of 'em!"

I smirked, flicking her in the forehead. "Okay, then, but don't look at me when you start trying to swim in the couch."

"Yes, mommy," she grumbled playfully before making to get her drink. Why did _that _make me blush? Then she stopped short, an almost guilty look creeping onto her face. "Babs, are- do you want me not to? 'Cos I don't need any kinda d-"

"Like you said, I'm not your mother. Have at it."

Those glossy lips pursed slightly. "Allrighty."

"But first, tell me - where on earth did you pick up fluent Español?!"

"Eh," she said with a shrug as she reached for a glass. "There's a free class at the Community Center. For one, I always wanted ta learn that second line of 'La Cucaracha'..."

I'm sure up until now, the story of this party has been tedious enough, so I'll sum up the next humdrum hour and a half. More guests arrived, making our number somewhere around thirty in all. As far as sustenance goes, Leonard had been cooking hamburgers, which were more or less edible; I found myself wishing someone had brought something lighter, though. Harley drank her margarita and an appletini. I drank a few glasses of lemonade. Jared threw Michelle into the pool. I threw Jared into a wall. Jared threw a tantrum, and it took both me and Mr Nance to talk him out of leaving. Leonard threw bad pick-up lines at Harley until she threw one of his chains over the side of the building.

"What a spitfire!" he confided in me (for some reason). "I'm ashamed to admit I just can't keep up with her, though."

"Or your wallet can't," I laughed. "How much do those chains cost, anyway?"

"But romance is a high-stakes game to begin with." Even without alcohol, I somehow felt nauseous.

Then, around nine or so, a few of Jared's college buddies showed up. It started to get out of hand; these guys just didn't have that "Dewey Decimal Drinks" sense of propriety. One of said hot dogs tried to do a keg stand, for which he was reportedly famous. He ended up in the hot tub with all his clothes on. Maybe they forgot they were on top of a high-rise, but several of them started playing Frisbee, knocking over one of the tiki torches and almost setting an umbrella on fire. Leonard tried to feign amusement, but I could tell he wasn't too happy about losing control of the situation.

"Want me to call the police?" I asked when he passed near me.

"No, thanks, babe," he laughed, eyes darting around from one group of troublemakers to another. "It's no problem... no problem at all. Mi casa es-"

_SMASH._

"Your casa is about to be your catastrophe, Leonard."

His smile had slipped a notch. "Ahh, it's all in good fun!"

As I wove my way between people gyrating to the local dance mix radio station being piped in around the deck, I wondered where I'd lost track of Harley. Eileen, the new intern, had been suggesting that we should consider loaning out video games to get more youth coming to the library, and I had been listening intently, she had several valid points - but that was over fifteen minutes ago, and it was the last time I could remember seeing Harley. Had she hit it off with somebody and found an empty room?

Wait - why would she? She said she only had eyes for me. But if I was thinking that, it would be jealousy. I couldn't be jealous about it without-

"Hey there, Barb!"

"Oh, hey Jared," I sighed. "Have you seen-"

"Come on, look at this," he laughed, dragging me by the arm past a deeply-tanned girl with a camcorder to a nearby cluster of people. "It's insane, that's what it is - you'll never believe how much she's won!"

"Oh?" I asked. "Who's winning wh-"

One of the college guys had veins popping out all over his head and neck, his face turning darker and darker with concentration. Finally, he heaved a sigh and gave in as Harley's slender wrist slammed his hand onto the table.

"Victory is mine again!" she crowed, scraping a pair of fives over in front of her as her adoring fans cheered. "Any more takers? No? C'mon, boys, don't be shy - maybe my arm is getting tired. Who wants ta find out?"

"What are you doing?!" I hissed in her ear.

"Givin' these Sigma Phis somethin' to do besides body shots and pinchin' buttcheeks," she whispered. "The lug with the Giants hat thought he could take me, and, well, it snowballed!"

"Cut it out," I said, trying not to snicker. "And give them their money back, you have an unfair advantage."

"What do you mean?" she said, blinking innocently at me as she sipped at a half-full Bahama Mama. "I'm just a hewpwess widdle girl!"

"All right," said another guy who looked like he must have been handed a football scholarship based on size alone. "I got a ten that says you can't take _me _down!"

"Sorry, this booth is closed for the evenin'," said Harley, glancing at me again. "But I think I'll donate my... _substantial _winnings to the library. Sound fair?"

Mr Nance started clapping, and everyone else laughed and clapped, as well. People began drifting away, and Harley grinned at me, leafing through her green.

"Fifty or sixty, right?" I said as she took another sip. "That could help us get Eileen's idea off the ground."

"Sure enough! Who's Eileen?"

I caught a whiff of her breath. "Whoa, Harley, how much did you have?!"

"Just the three," she said in alarm, frowning at me. "Why, do I have dragon breath?"

"No, you smell like a distillery. Are you sure you-"

"The appletini _was _stronger than I'm used to, I guess, but... oy."

My hands shot out automatically, finding their way under her arms as her glass shattered, spilling orange liquid all over the tile. "Jesus, Harley, are you okay?!"

"Well, I... oohg, maybe not, I- I- mmmhh..."

Slowly, due to the volume of bawdy individuals, I maneuvered her back inside the apartment and into one of several spare bedrooms Leonard had assured us we could use. Though I was worried about the possibility of finding hidden cameras or mirrors on the ceiling, beggars can't be choosers.

"There," I breathed as her head came to rest on a satin pillowcase. "Are you feeling any better, do you want some water?"

"Okay." I obliged; when she'd taken several sips, she smiled up at me, eyes somewhat glazed over. "Thanks, Babsy. You're a peach."

"This is some serious inebriation, here, Harley. Maybe someone slipped you a roofie?"

"Oh... oh no, no, I hope not!" she babbled. "I don' wanna sleep with anybody, I don't like them!"

"Yes, Harley," I placated her, biting my lip and looking around again. "Listen - will you be okay for now? I... I want to go out there and figure out what's happening with you."

"_NO!_" she shouted, slurring. "I mean... I mean I wantcha ta stay wimme."

"But I want to make sure you're-"

"Stay," she whispered, pulling my face into her chest. "You're my friend, I like you better here than away."

Ooh, she was playing dirty. Two soft, pliable masses were bookends for my head, which was handy because it suddenly felt like my brain was falling off a shelf. "W- well, I- no, I can't, I have to go see-"

"C'mon... hey, I'm hot in here- I mean, it's hot in here. Can ya turn off the sun?"

Her drink _had _been spiked. Spiked with what, though? Should I break up this shindig by calling poison control? My hands dug into the bed on either side of her torso as I pushed myself upward. "Yeah, well, I'll try, but- hey, what are you doing?!"

She had undone her sarong, and when she threw it to the floor I saw what she was wearing under it for the first time: a string bikini that left very little to the imagination. It was white; simple, just like mine. Except mine actually covered my body. Her body, however...

"Stay for a while, mmkay, Babsy?" she repeated, wiping her face. "I... I wanna friend to talk to, somebody with good ears, like yours."

"S-sure," I found myself saying, staring at her shamelessly. But I was supposed to do something. What was it I had to do? Something outside...

"Dr Leland listens, too," she went on, letting her hand fall on her abdomen. "Why, just the other day, I was listening her about you."

"Listening- I mean, telling her about me?"

"Yeah," she mumbled. "But it's a secret, so don't tell."

"I won't," I assured her as my eyes strayed back to the rest of her. What was I doing?! I was no worse than Leonard, and he's a perverted bastard! But girls didn't even evoke that kind of reaction in me; I didn't like them. Especially not Harley, with her gently sloping waist, her smooth thighs, her full, perky-

"She says I should make sure we stay friends," Harley went on in the meantime. "Because that's the most important matter. Runnin' around, actin' like a lovesick puppy, that stuff's not gonna work with you - you hafta get in on it yourself, from the ground floor. What floor are we on?"

"I don't remember," I said distractedly. _Very _distractedly.

"Like, say, if you wanted me to kiss me right now. You kiss me. Ya know."

"Me kiss you?"

"Yeah," she said with a smile. "Kiss me. That wouldn't be-"

"Should I kiss you?"

"Yeah." Her nose twitched. "If me and me and you kissed, the three of us-"

She stopped. She stopped, and I stopped. Her eyelashes fluttered quickly, and before I could ask about that, she scooted backward off the bed.

"Harley!" I gasped, scurrying over to the edge and looking down at her. "Wh- oh my God, are you all right?!"

"N-no," she panted, standing and wobbling to and fro. "Y... you were going to- going to-"

"What?" I asked, already feeling offended by what she was going to say next even though I didn't know what it was.

"Kiss me," she said softly, two fingers creeping up to her lips.

"Huh? No, I wasn't."

She frowned, tears forming in her eyes. "But you can't do that, okay? Not if I been roofied - had a roofie. That's bad mojo, Jojo."

"Oh- oh, Harley, don't cry, please," I whispered, rushing to join her in standing. "You- you're just too far gone, I- I wasn't trying to kiss you, I promise!"

Spoke too soon. At the exact moment I denied her accusation for the second time, I replayed the events in my mind again, and saw more accurately that Harley's face had been growing larger right before I saw her lashes flutter. What if I _was _trying to do exactly that? If I had done it, and she was this far removed from a level state of mind, what kind of person did that make me?

"Liar," she grumbled, staggering to her left. "Your pants are all fiery."

"Okay, okay," I said frantically, sweat already beading on my forehead. "But... but we need something to sober you up, now. Black coffee. That's supposed to work, right?"

"I like mine sweet," she reminded me, tipping forward slowly. "Two or three or two lumps."

"_Oop!_" Just barely caught her before she hit her forehead on the nightstand. Only the thin fabric of my own bathing suit separated our bodies... but that was something I couldn't think about right now. "Uhm... uh, I mean, we, uh... we need to get you back on that bed, okay? Can you do that for me?"

"Babsy, I- I don't feel so, I- no, I-"

There was just enough time for me to aim her in the general direction of the wastebasket before she blew, and I'll do you the hefty favour of not describing the rest of that experience. My fears escalated; something was very wrong, she was _way _more drunk than she should be from three beverages. Then, as I was running water on a washcloth to clean her up with, a chirping sounded from my earring.

"Not now," I whispered. "God!"

Glancing outside the door, I walked back into Harley's room and locked it, then squeezed the earring on either side. "What _is _it?!"

"I'm sorry," Bruce's mildly-miffed voice floated into my ear. "Catch you at a bad time?"

"Kind of," I gusted as I swiped at Harley's face; she only moaned. "I'm... I think our teammate's been drugged, she's acting so out of it, and-"

"My sympathies, but unfortunately, we have more pressing matters."

"What? But- but Har-"

"The Penguin and some of his henchmen are looting the museum," he plunged ahead. "This might be something I could handle alone, but lucky for us, he has also planted a bomb."

"Oh, one of _these,_" I growled. "Stupid, inconvenient villains... okay, where is the bomb?"

"I'll spare you the story of how I deciphered the clue and say the Gotham Clocktower. Maybe somewhere in the lower floors. Set to go off at midnight, which gives us less than two hours. If that blows, it could wipe out-"

"I get the picture." Frowning, I glanced at my date to this party-gone-horribly-wrong. "The Lark won't be able to join us, I don't think. She's really sick, I- I'm worried."

"An ambulance can be there in fifteen minutes if you call immediately," he said. "Most of them are in house; very few emergencies tonight. So far."

"But you need me now. Damn, this is so, so... _ass!_"

"Pardon?"

"Nevermind. Which am I handling?"

"The bomb; you're proficient enough that I'm confident you can handle this alone. I'll see what I can do about foiling their late-night viewing of brachiosaur fossils."

"Right. Bat Two out."

But there was still Harley. Where was I going to put her? Should I just call the ambulance like Bruce said? As I watched her, limbs began shaking. She had to go to the hospital.

"Leonard," I said sternly as Harley and I came out of the bedroom.

"Hey, hey, that's my name, don't- oh man, what's wrong with her?"

"I don't know," I said, trying not to cry. "Could you call an ambulance and have them meet us in the lobby of your building? I think she ended up swallowing a mickey."

"Don't look at me," he said, raising his hands to chest level. "All my drinks are on the up and up!"

"I'm not _blaming _you, Leonard, I- would you just call the frickin' hospital?!"

Eileen followed me downstairs, curious as to what was going on. That worked out well; I needed to get out of there and head for the clocktower, but I was not willing to leave Harley alone with the night guard. After making her promise to sit with Harley, I put my hand on her cheek and told her I'd come see her when I got back from my "family emergency".

"It's Babsy!" she giggled, eyes popping in a manner I could only wonder at. "Babsybabsybabsy, the bungee-bouncing Babsy, the baby-bottle supermodel, squeaky squawky Jabberwocky!"

"Does she always get like this after a few too many?" asked Eileen, scrunching up her freckles as Harley fell over into her lap.

"Not at all," I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "You two will be okay, won't you? I'm sorry, really, really sorry, and I'll get you a car for your birthday if you-"

"I get it," she snapped. "Go, I'll wait with her."

"Thanks - bye Harley, bye Eileen!"

"Bye, mommy!" Harley half-moaned as the doors swung closed behind me. Safety of Gotham's citizens aside... was I making a colossal mistake?

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

Something wasn't right.

Powerless though I was to fight against it, I felt it creeping up from when Babs had tried to kiss me - I knew she had, even though she denied it. At first, my focus was on that - feeling so embarrassed and exhilarated by the notion that she was showing interest again, but at the same time worried about what it might mean and concerned with what Dr Leland had told me. But this was all through a thick veil of drunkenness, and it was right after I hurled that I started to feel things were kind of... off.

The world distorted before my eyes; it was like one of those old paintings where the pocketwatches are melting on tree branches and freakazoid stuff like that. Maybe that was just my equilibrium out of whack, but I started to hear voices - dark whisperings, telling me things didn't matter, or would always matter. And colours changed - they were never right, and up was down, and I could smell cotton candy...

Then people were strapping me onto a cot. Where were they taking me? One of them said my name, and the others started muttering. That's when I heard the two words that spark reaction in me more than any other:

_Joker. Arkham._

I didn't want to go back - I wanted to stay here, where it smelled like cotton candy! The gaping maw of a monster was trying to swallow me, and I broke free, hit one of its minions, drove him to the ground, and I tried to run but the ground was made of caramel and my feet kept sticking. Then I tripped, and I was sinking into the caramel, and-

Then they lowered the mask onto my face, and everything went away.

END SESSION

* * *

Quick note to thank my recent reviewers and commemorate the fact that Lark has now garnered over 1,000 hits. Go me!

To make a long story short, I am relocating in the latter half of the month, and I hope to have the rest of this story up by then. Do you view this as good or bad news? Are you relieved that there IS an end in sight, or miffed that in a relatively short time it will all be over? Meh. Rambling in the wee hours as I listen to Eiffel 65 - a relic from the past. Shuffling of feet. How've you been?


	14. Family And Forensics

Session Fourteen: Family And Forensics

What a rip-off.

Oh, I found the bomb, all right - but Penguin had forgotten a key ingredient. There was no battery in the timer. All I had to do was find it, pick it up and deposit it at Gotham PD. I was relieved and perturbed all at once.

"That is good news, I suppose," said Bruce in my ear as I swung from ceiling to ceiling, making my way back to the car. "Still, I'm sorry to have pulled you away from your previous emergency."

"Yeah, I hope Ha- err, Bat Three is okay." Our fearless leader was working on a hyperwave signal that couldn't be picked up on any other CB or police scanner, but until he perfected it, we had to be careful about codenames. "Batman, I... I really think somebody drugged her, she wasn't herself at all."

"Where was this? A bar?"

"No, a party." He grunted, and I knew what he meant. "Yeah, there was a pretty large crowd; it's gonna be difficult to pin down a suspect."

"I'll see about hacking into the hospital records for a report on her condition when I get back to base; I have a delivery to make."

"Sounds like you caught our felonious waterfowl."

"Indeed... but please, don't say that ever again."

"I know," I groaned. "Drivel like that just flows naturally when you're suited up, doesn't it?"

Five more minutes put me in my Altima, peeling off the leather and spandex and shoving it into the secret compartment in the lid of my trunk. Now back down to a bathing suit, I grabbed a wrinkled pair of jeans from my cluttered backseat and rushed up to the penthouse.

The police had broken up the party. Apparently, soon after they rushed Harley off to the hospital, a lava lamp had fallen off the side to the pavement below, narrowly missing the beat cop who had shown up to check on why the ambulance had been called. Reinforcements soon arrived and escorted everyone from the premises, so says Leonard.

"The only reason they didn't bring me in is because I was in the middle of calling them when they busted in," he moaned, looking around the shambles of his living room. "They gave me the nod for deciding the kegger got too kooky."

"What happened to Jared, and Eileen, and M-"

"Down at the hoosegow with everybody else," he said with a shrug. "I mean, I knew it wasn't everybody, but the fuzz have to do their thing."

It took a lot longer for me to get through traffic to the hospital, but once I got there, I was met with staunch resistance.

"Are you family?"

I hesitated for the briefest moment. If I lied, would it go over? Probably not. "I'm her best friend."

"Well, nobody can see that patient, ma'am," the plump receptionist told me. Her mammoth perm was a remnant of a bygone era, but now was not the time to point it out. "She's being given a psychological evaluation; she may be a danger to herself and others."

"What?! But- but she was intoxicated! Her drink was spiked, too, what's-"

"Young lady," the woman said in an undertone, leaning over the countertop so her abnormally-generous bosom started pushing inkpens onto the floor. "You do realise who we're talking about, don't you? Harley Quinn?"

"I'm well aware," I managed through my teeth.

"The Harley Quinn who used to work for the biggest menace in Gotham history?"

"What about it?"

She sat back, flabbergasted. "Well, if you knew all that, then why are you still asking me why they're giving her a psych test?"

"But- but that's not fair!" I shouted. A dozen heads whipped around, so I leaned in myself, now. "I mean, she has a past, I know, but- but she was drunk, I'm sure her bloodwork proves it! It's not the same thing as a-"

"She punched out an EMT, ma'am. Call us hyper-sensitive, but we don't usually ignore it when that happens."

My stomach sank. If she got violent, that would complicate things.

An hour went by, and no word. Two. I called Bruce a few times on the courtesy phone (I'd left my cell at Leonard's place), but he didn't have anything for me, yet. Another hour. The spare change I'd left in those old jeans bought me a cup of vending machine cocoa, but it didn't really help; I continued to pace, wondering what was going on and whether or not they cared to tell me anything. Finally, when I was on the verge of asking a sickly-looking man if he might have a cigarette I could bum, the receptionist told me I had a call.

"It's not good," said Bruce. "The bloodwork's not in so I can't tell you what she might have taken, but... the rest of the report is in the system."

"Yeah, and?"

"They're seriously recommending she be sent back."

"Sent back? To wh- no. No, you can't be serious."

"Afraid so," he grunted. "When most average citizens see someone's former address is 'maximum security ward', they panic."

"They can't do this, she's- she's cured, you _know _she is, they-"

"I never said she was myself," he reminded me, "but I have been leaning that way. Their evaluation seems rushed and amateurish, if you ask me, but... the Joker connection is going to hurt her. I was amazed she actually got out of Arkham to begin with, given her record."

My hands felt cold, and my legs were numb. "They can't lock her away. I need her - _we _need her, she's one of us, now!"

"The records show her sample's already arrived in the lab, so we should know fairly soon what's in her system, but... even if she tests positive for alcohol and other substances, I want you to remember that doesn't mean she'll be released. In fact, it may be all they need."

"All they need? For wh-"

"Miss?"

"Oh, hang on, I'll call you back," I said quickly. "Sounds like they know something." 'That would be a welcome change,' I added to myself.

"I'm sorry to tell you that your friend is being transported to the asylum."

The floor shouldn't sway like that; it might make me fall over. "Wh... what?"

The woman shrugged in that vaguely-sympathetic fashion that comes with an extended stint in the health care industry. "When an orderly tried to give her a cup of water, she bit his hand. Another tried to administer a sedative, and - yeah, they're still trying to figure this one out - she got free and jabbed the needle in his face. They decided that it was best to get her to a location more equipped for high-risk patients."

"No..."

"Sorry," she repeated.

"But... b-but wait, don't I get to see her, or anything?"

"I'm afraid that would be impossible." Her tone suggested she thought I wasn't bright enough to grasp the obvious. "She's so unpredictably violent, I doubt she'll be seeing any visitors for a long, long time."

Before I knew it, I was leaning across the desk, both fists pulling the lapels of her white coat toward me. "What about her tox reports?! What do _they _say, what was her blood-alcohol concentration!?"

"I- I don't know, ma'am!" she stammered. "What- I never-"

"She was drugged, I'm sure of it!" I shouted, tears sliding down my face. "And you just sign her over to the funny farm without a backward glance? Do you even bother to hire doctors with medical degrees, or do you just order a few from eBay?!"

"Security!" the woman was screaming; I noticed the only guard in the corridor looking in my direction, then muttering into a walkie-talkie. "Help, security, please he-"

"Oh, _FORGET IT!_" I growled, throwing her back into her chair. "I sure hope you don't have anybody you love wind up in this hospital, because apparently, you might never _see _them again!"

With that, I stormed out, the security guard trotting up to her desk to ask what had happened. The rushing in my ears drowned out their words; every inch of me wanted to kick, rip and maim anyone who crossed me. Really, I'm lucky that guard was there, because I was about to do the receptionist serious harm.

It only took me the time between there and the car to start crying. Harried to worried in a minute flat. What would they do to her once she got there? Worse yet - she was probably only mildly out of her head before, but what was happening to her right now? Those drugs could have her in all kinds of agony, and they cared just enough to lock her up in a padded cell. She needed help, and instead she was being treated like a criminal.

Criminals...

. . ᴥ . .

"Daddy, I need your help!"

The Commissioner sighed, taking the pencil out of his mouth and turning toward me as I stomped his way. "Yeah," he grunted. "I figured you'd end up here, eventually. What's up?"

"They've taken Harley back to Arkham!" I growled, fighting to keep my voice level. "Sh-she didn't do anything, she's just- and they-"

"Whoa, whoa, calm down, sweetheart," he said quietly. When the situation called for it, my father could dig down and find his tenderness reserves. "Who's taken her, what happened?"

"The cowardly, dial-a-diploma staff at Gotham General, that's who! And they didn't even bother to wait for the bloodwork, they just- just sent a sane woman to an insane place, and that's a- a-"

"Barbara, honey, you-"

"It's inhumane!" I went on as if he hadn't spoken. "It's an infringement on her civil-"

"Hush!" he said, placing a finger on my lips. "Now, listen. We've been sifting through the dregs of that party you two went to - and yes, I know you were there, too - for an hour. By all accounts, we know a blonde girl named Harley was there with my daughter, and yes, I received notice that the hospital admitted Miss Quinn. Now, are you saying they shipped her back to Arkham already? Why?"

"I don't know!" I sobbed. "Sh-she's not herself, though, they don't- and this complete _cow _was going on and on about how she bit somebody, like that matters, and I can't- I- I want to see Harley, and they won't even let me do that!"

"Calm down," he commanded, becoming more businesslike. "Now, if she really did attack them, maybe they were justified. I mean..." Now, I knew what he was about to say. Everybody was trying to feed me the same cock and bull story, and I was sick of it already, but I still crossed my fingers, hoping against hope he wouldn't go there. "Honey, isn't it possible she really needed to go there?"

"_NO!_" I snapped, utterly disappointed. I was barely holding it together; most of me wanted to break down, to wallow and scream and attempt to cry the pain out of me, but my logic center insisted I keep going because it knew going to pieces wouldn't get her released. "No, Father, it isn't, it is _not _possible! I've been living with her for months, remember? This is the first time she's shown _any _sign of slipping back - and I don't even think it's her fault!"

"Not her fault, eh?" he asked, brow furrowed. "Then what are you suggesting happened?"

"Drugs," I said without preamble. "I think somebody spiked her drink, I'm absolutely sure of it - the way it just... _hit _her all of a sudden! She went from perfectly normal to a babbling idiot instantly, like flipping a switch!"

One of his hands went to his moustache, as usual. "It's a possibility. Wild party like that one, riddled with frat boys... usually a date rape pill winds up in someone's glass. But even so, for it to send her into a frenzy like that is a bit-"

"Excuse me," said someone to my right. I whirled to find myself looking at not an officer, but a rather young man dressed in a blue Chambray shirt and khakis. "Did you say you think your friend was drugged?"

"Yes, I- I did. Who are you?"

"My name's Gary Archdale," he said, shaking my hand quickly. "And you're Barbara Gordon; the Commish has like, four pictures of you in his office. Anyway, I, uh, I think I've got something you'll want to take a look at, here."

My father and I glanced at each other, then followed Gary down the hall and into the elevator, which we took to the first basement level. It was the CSI labs; I knew that much, but I still wasn't sure why we were headed there.

"Okay, first of all," he said, leading me over to another table where a girl with short, spiky hair was writing something down on a clipboard, "we found traces of a strange psychoactive substance on this broken glass - but it's pretty bizarre, we're not sure what to make of it. It's like a barbiturate, but also has properties not unlike-"

"Can you skip to the good part?" Daddy said. "What of it?"

"Well, the happy pill in _this _drink would have been plenty to send anyone but a hardcore drug user flying," he said with a slight laugh. "I mean, there's enough on this shard _alone _to give you a buzz. There's nothing saying it's your friend's gin and juice, but if it is-"

"Right," I breathed, staring at the glass. "What kind of drink was in it?"

"Oh, what was - Agnes, let me see that." The woman handed over her clipboard and picked up a camera to take detailed photographs of the evidence. "Hmm, something citrus-based... obviously contained a lot of alcohol, and coconut."

"The Bahama Mama," I moaned. "Yeah, she was drinking that when she started tripping out - and she dropped it, it spilled everywhere."

"There's something else," he said excitedly. This must be the highlight of his day; I was just hoping it all panned out. "One of our colleagues has been watching the amateur video shot by a party guest, and he flagged a few scenes he found noteworthy. Well- ahh, here he is. Marco!"

A fairly tall, well-toned man with thick black hair came over, slamming back an espresso like it was his only source of oxygen. "Yeah, Gar?"

"Can you cue up Index 12 on the penthouse tape for me?"

Three minutes later found all of us crowded around a thirteen-inch television screen, squinting through the crowds of people and the instability of the cameraman (or woman). Finally, Marco stopped it and said, "Okay, see here?"

"Hmm... oh, Harley's arm-wrestling contest," I said with a weak smile.

"That is one badass beauty," breathed Gary.

Daddy's eyes narrowed impatiently. "When you're through ogling..."

"Right, right. Forward a bit." Marco let the video run, and I watched as Harley slammed a girl who looked like she needed a hormonal adjustment into the table. When everyone was whooping and Jared gave Harley a high-five, Gary said, "There!"

We all looked at the frozen image onscreen for a few more seconds before my father spoke for both of us: "I don't see anything."

"Punch it up, Marco."

And as we looked on in astonishment, the picture zoomed in little by little on the glass near Harley's elbow, revealing-

"What is _that?!_"

"Exactly," said Gary, grinning at the Commissioner and probably hoping he'd net himself a raise for this. "I do believe you're right; a Sweathog _did _spike the punchbowl."

A small, thin-looking hand was suspended over her drink, and though it wasn't easy to make out, it seemed as if a tiny phial of some sort was clutched between the fingers. "No way," I gasped. "But who did it?"

"There's no way of knowing," said Marco with a frustrated sigh. "That is, I watched this part over and over for like, five minutes, and this is literally the most you see of the perp. What a burn."

"A barbiturate, Daddy," I said in hushed tones. "If it was harsh enough, that could-"

"Yes, honey, I get it." Gary and Marco were busy nodding at each other, pleased with their success; I was inwardly grateful, but too miserable to show it properly. "This still doesn't guarantee they'll let her walk out the front door, though, but... it's good to have our evidence all lined up."

"You're quite welcome," said Gary with a bow.

"They _have _to let her go," I insisted. "What right have they got to hold her now, anyway? She didn't even take the drugs voluntarily; if anything, she should be given an apology. They've got a _victim _locked up in-"

"_Barbara!_" he snapped, and I fell to silence. "I get it, already! Your old man's not _that _far gone, you know. All I'm saying is that you have to be prepared for things to go a little rougher than you expect; I thought I taught you that."

My lip was trembling. "You did, but... but I can't think about them keeping her locked up there and not allowing me to ever see her, because that kind of thinking only makes me want to start kicking ass and taking names."

"Seriously, Honey - what's gotten into you? You're so gung ho about Harley Quinn all the time, I- don't you have any normal friends?"

"Harley's the most normal friend I've got," I breathed, trying not to acknowledge that I sounded like some low-budget TV movie. "Or the only one, maybe, I don't know."

Casting his eyes around surreptitiously behind his rectangular frames, he led me off to the side a few steps, dropping his voice. "Are you sure this isn't a... _BAT _thing?"

I blinked. "What?"

"Has your, ah... night boss been asking you to keep an eye on her? I've been wondering about that for a while, but I did promise to try and keep my nose out of your-"

"No, Daddy," I lied. Well, it wasn't really a lie - my reasons for sticking up for Harley had nothing to do with her being The Lark and one of my former nemeses. "Believe me, I know it's mondo bizarro, but... Harley actually isn't evil. In fact, I haven't met many people as inherently pure and decent as her."

"If you say so," he grunted, rubbing his chin again.

"You will help me out, right?" I asked. "She'll always be The Joker's arm candy to you, I understand, but... if she's being set up, you will see she gets justice, won't you?"

He hesitated. That made me nervous. "Of course, honey. Our first duty is to protect the innocent, _then _punish the guilty. Let's see if we can get ahold of those tox reports..."

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Oh, Harley... what's happened to you?"

The walls were dripping again. I tried to ignore it long enough to answer, because somebody should really be told about this, but out of my mouth came, "Happened to who? Me? I'm fine."

"You've attacked three people in the past twenty-four hours," the disembodied voice went on. Every time I looked for its source, I saw... _him._ Grinning from ear to ear, cold eyes boring into me, trying to turn me inside out again. I looked resolutely in the other direction. "What's brought all this on?"

"N-no, no," I moaned, feeling the bed start to rock. The sheets were tentacles - the pillow was a tongue. No, it wasn't real! But it felt so real, it looked so- "This octopus, please... make it stop, I know it ain't an octopus!"

"Relax, Harley, calm down," the voice soothed. "There's no octopus."

"Easy for you to say," I sobbed, flinging myself out of the bed and onto the floor; this was difficult when tied up in a straightjacket.

"Harley, please - can you describe to me what you're seeing?"

"N-nothin' weird, nothin' at all!" My voice was an octave higher than I was used to hearing it. "I s-see a room, and a b-bed, and a psychiatrist, and- _OH, GOD!_"

A dragon. I'd never seen a real dragon before. It wanted to eat me - or roast me alive, _then _eat me. But I was ready for it; the bed was a cave, and I dove for it, made sure I was out of sight when it turned in my direction.

"What are you doing now? Where have you gone?"

"Nowhere," I insisted. "This is- I'm under the bed. I was- the lights are too bright. Yeah."

"You're lying to me," the voice accused. "We'll never get anywhere if you aren't honest. Tell me."

"_Go away!_" I shouted, trying to protect my face from the jagged icicles raining down on me. "If you're not gonna help me, then leave me alone - I can't run forever with you distracting me!"

"What are you running _from?_"

"_NOTHING!_"

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Yes?"

"We're here to see Harleen Quinzel."

The man's eyebrows went up. "What? I m-mean, that is- I'm sorry, but that resident isn't allowed any visitors. She's highly psychotic."

"No, she's not," I spat.

"Barbara," my father said in a stern voice. Then, clearing his throat, he said, "We have a legal order to obtain testimony from her."

"That wouldn't do you much good, anyway," the man said with a shrug, sifting through a stack of papers. "Bats in the belfry, and how. Doubt you'd get a straight ans-"

"Irrelevant. Procedure states we have to ask her, even if she spits out gibberish."

Ten minutes passed; the clerk had to ask his supervisor to sign off on it, and we both had ID checks run on us. A guard accompanied us into a small room, where we were told Harley would be brought in and secured for my father to "take notes". What we weren't expecting was to find Dr Leland waiting there, legs crossed and expression highly interested.

"Hello, Commissioner... Miss Gordon."

"What are you doing here?" I said, maybe a bit more bluntly that I intended.

"I'm here to advise you against this visit," she said in an undertone. "Whatever has happened, I couldn't even begin to guess, but she's extremely unstable at the moment. Seeing you could complicate the problem, or..."

"All the same," said Daddy, "we need to ask her a few questions."

Her dark eyes rolled toward the ceiling. "Very well, then. They're bringing her in now."

Every part of my body went cold. They had her dressed up in a Hannibal costume; full straightjacket, face mask, strapped to a dolly. The only thing missing was fava beans. "Oh, Harley..."

"What?!" she was shouting. "Jiminy Christmas, will somebody put out the cigar? My living room suit is made o' cashmere!"

"Harley!" I shouted, pounding on the thick, transparent wall that separated us.

"I... well, crap," she moaned. "Babs is here, she's gonna see the state of things, and- but I'll never be in, I'm out, out like week-old rye."

"It's not much use," Dr Leland gusted, taking off her glasses and pinching the bridge of her nose (as I'd been doing so frequently lately). "Her responses are so erratic - ranging between coherent, logical answers to abstract blather that sounds like a reenactment of a Saturday morning cartoon. Heavy hallucinations. Intense fear and paranoia. A real stew in there, and nothing we've tried giving her seems to have much effect."

"Harley," I said clearly through the holes drilled in the Plexiglas. "Harley, can you hear me?"

"What do I say?" she whispered. Her skin was so pale - why was she so pale? Weren't they feeding her? "Y... you're gonna see me like this if I lead you here, so- what if I stay in the woods? But then she might come lookin', she- and that'd get her killed, that's not what I- no, but-"

"I am going to get you out of here," I said clearly. "If it takes me a month of Sundays, I swear, I'll get them to understand!"

For a second - one, fleeting second - the wide, terrified blues behind the mask focused on me, and I could tell she wanted to believe me. Then- "No... no, who cares? I'm a freakin' bimbette with- but does the _team _need me? I can't sing for you in here, nossir, like bein' muffled by a house-wide pillow. And I just learned all the pockets, too..."

My throat constricted. She was talking about being The Lark - and a psychiatrist, the police commissioner, and two guards were listening. The chances of them accurately interpreting her rantings were slim, but best not to risk it. "Daddy, m-maybe you should ask her the questions, now."

"Sure," he said nervously, approaching the glass. "Uh, Miss Quinzel-"

"Quinn!" she growled, thrashing against her restraints. "Quinzel belongs to the dinosaurs!"

One eyebrow hiked. "Right. Anyway, uh... just to confirm, did you intentionally ingest any illegal substances recently?"

"Substance... everybody tells me I ain't got any, but they don't, either. Just a few drinks is all, right? That's fine, it doesn't- doesn't make me a- but Babsy couldn't handle 'em, she made the roses die, and I shoulda been more-"

"Don't worry about that," I soothed, and everybody was gaping at me like I should be joining her on the other side. "Just because I can't hold my liquor doesn't mean you're not allowed to have any."

"Barbara!" my father hissed. "You didn't tell me you've turned into a lush!"

"I'm _not _a lush, I- it was one time, at a party, and it wasn't at the penthouse; I was dry as a bone that night, honest!"

"Hmmh."

"And who still says 'lush', anyway?!"

"Don't fight!" Harley wailed. "Oy, everybody's comin' apart, and I'm the wedge, and glue guns are happier when they're put to good use! Steak and kidney pie, it's the centerpiece, and if we-"

"That's enough, I think," Dr Leland whispered. "Harley's getting overly excited."

"Have you been trying to clean out her system?" I demanded of her. "There's- there's something foreign in there, and-"

"We have been giving her a steady diet designed specifically to flush out impurities. There's been a slight reduction in rage and violent outbursts, but now she simply acts..."

"Scared," Daddy put in. "Well, I apologise, but I have more questions; I'll be quick about it."

The psychiatrist nodded glumly. "Please do."

"Do you know your name?"

"She-Ra!"

"Come on, don't be stupid," I hissed.

"I like She-Ra better than Harley, though," she giggled. "And you- you're my Dreamfish! I miss you, Dreamfish!"

I saw the look he gave me coming a mile away. "'Dreamfish'?"

"Don't ask me," I said very, very quietly.

"Birds and fish and bats and clowns, words that make such pretty sounds!"

This was getting _too _close for comfort. We had to get out of here, but Daddy had one last question. "When did you first start to feel... the symptoms of dementia setting in?"

"Who says I'm demented?" she laughed. "Everything is fine with _me _- it's everybody _else _who keeps turnin' into cacti and stinky pipes!"

He sighed. "When did you start feeling nauseous?"

"Oh, the pukiness!" Her eyes rolled in her head. "My mom's from the South Seas, and she brought it back with her!"

"The Bahama Mama," I groaned (again). "Harley, can you speak in something besides horrible riddles? You're not Nygma!"

"Nygma? Riddler. Rigma Nyddler. The Joker was a smoker, and a velvet choker." All at once, her laughing subsided. "N-no, the Joker, I- not Puddin', I don't want 'im, he's- no, get 'im out! _GET HIM OUT!_"

"Really, I insist you leave," said Dr Leland sternly. "I can't allow you to antagonise the patient any further."

"I've got most of what I need," Daddy said loudly, glancing at me as if to say, "You got your visit and we're pushing it."

A lump rose in my throat. "Okay. Okay, I'm sorry, I- just give me a second?"

"Make it fast," she sighed uncomfortably.

I leaned against the glass, both hands on either side of the holes. Harley's eyes were everywhere but on my face; rolling around, staring at the lights, squeezed shut. A line of drool ran from the corner of her mouth to the bottom of her chin.

"Harley?"

She tried to focus on me, but it was as if I was on the other side of a football field. "Who's there?"

"Harley, I- I miss you. Come back to me soon, okay?"

"Babs? No, I- why ya runnin' away? Don't, I- I didn't mean it, I- I'm a blockhead, nobody'd want me to be their girl. You can live to be free!"

My heart exploded. Even in the face of all this, she was still agonising over the relationship issue? She was dying a little inside every day, and I was holding the knife. "Nevermind that! I miss you!"

Again, her eyes really focused on me again. Then, as if fighting with some invisible force stronger than anything we'd faced in our crimefighting careers, she said, "I... m-miss... Babsy, don't let 'em catch you, too, you don't have a flyswatter!"

Before I could say anything else, the guards were propping her up and turning her toward the door. "No, wait- Harley! Harley, I'll come back, I promise!"

"Bring back, bring back, oh bring back my Babsy to me, _to meee!_" she sang as they wheeled her out, voice cracking.

"I'll be damned," said Dr Leland.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," I sobbed. "I d-didn't mean to get her more wound up, or- or anything, I j-just had-"

"No, that's not what I was going to say." She took off her glasses again to look more intently at me, cold, analytical eyes boring through my head. "Something about you really _is _different, Miss Gordon."

"Wh-what?"

"I've been Harley's psychiatrist for some time now, and if there's one person she talks about in nearly every session, it's you. Despite past experience and the reason for the therapy, she mentions you more often than The Joker."

For some reason, that made me smile, even while I was still crying. "She does?"

"And I can see why. You actually got through to her, just now." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Everything I've been trying with varying success, stemming from a degree and years of experience with the criminally insane, and you almost effortlessly draw out the most rational, stable parts of her mind. Not that you 'fixed' everything; she has a difficult time ahead of her, but... that's intriguing." She hesitated, one stem of her glasses in her teeth. "Whatever the nature of your relationship, it's obvious this bond is more than one-sided. You're very special to her."

Daddy had to lead me back to the car by the hand; I was in no shape to find my own way.

END SESSION

* * *

Another note - and so soon? Lookitlookitlookit!

/community/QualityLesbianRomanceAcrosstheFandomsQLRAF/50622/99/0/1/

I am indescribably proud to be rec'd there - especially given this bit from the description: "quality stories that don't require you know a lot about the fandom to enjoy it". One of my highest goals in writing is to always make the story accessible to everyone, as many of my friends are interested in what I create and (more often than not) have had no contact with the fandom previously. Gives me a glow to know I qualified for this list. Also, I'm extra honoured to have penned (I think) the first BTAS title added to this list... although that also makes me cast a critical eye toward the Bat-Fandom... no, wait! A _Birds of Prey_ fic! That's marginally better, Gothamites.

But I must ask, and please do forgive a foolish question... why does there seem to be an extremely high volume of Hermione/McGonagall?


	15. Dementia Derailed

Session Fifteen: Dementia Derailed

Due process will bite you on the ass every time. It took nearly a week for the hospital to finally process her tox reports (even though they should have had them ready that day), and even longer for Daddy to be granted a look at them. I suspect the same morons who washed their hands of the problem by asking Arkham to pick her up were behind the greatly-reduced speeds. They had better watch their backs.

Before the police were through analysing the serum, Bruce called me with his own opinions on her bloodwork, and I almost dropped my cell.

"Smilex?!"

"The same alternate draft used on Tim," he said wearily. "_Plus _additives from Crane's latest concoction. Somebody out there is writing their own cookbook of villainy."

"But... but she's not laughing, or- well, not much, and her hair is still blonde. What's-"

"She's only had one dose, Barbara. Perhaps, with further exposure, she'd end up looking like The Joker, but thankfully-"

"Yeah." I sipped at my now-cold tea, thinking hard. "But... who would possibly have some of that? Do you think somebody raided their hideout after-"

"I took it all," he assured me. "Every drop they had left - and I disposed of most of it by breaking it down at the chemical level."

"Then where's the rest?"

"Secured. Don't worry, I rechecked when I discovered it was made from the Smilex Two-Point-Oh formula - safe and sound."

"Then do you still have the antidote she helped us make?"

"In triplicate. Won't take me long to modify it. I suspected something like this might happen sooner or later, but I'd never have imagined Harley would be the intended-"

"Bruce, I- you have to get it to her right now, _right now!_"

"Calm yourself, Barbara." His tone was sharp. I was being too excitable, and he didn't tolerate that from his charges. I understood why; it could be fatal out in the field. "The police are working on figuring out what happened, and before they get that far, I'll deliver a dose to your father."

"I could take it to him," I offered. "Hang on, I'll be there in-"

"NO, Barbara. Too visible a connection. I'll take care of it."

My foot stamped of its own will. "But I can't just sit here and wait for the grass to grow!"

"That is exactly what you will do. You do trust me, don't you?"

"Yes," I said begrudgingly.

"Make sure to be ready to console her when she's through the other side of this." A deep, worried breath. "It might not be pretty; Harley may not bounce back as fast as Tim."

"But- but you just said the amount of exposure-"

"Harley was once certifiable _without _use of drugs; even a chemically-induced relapse may take her longer to recover from. Then again, she might merely be laid up for a few days. Remember: hope for the best..."

"...but prepare for the worst," I finished for him. "That crapola never cheers anybody up."

"If I only wanted to cheer Gotham up, I'd be spreading the Smilex myself."

. . ᴥ . .

More or less through sheer force of will and a ceaseless barrage of whining, I was allowed to be present for the administration of the anti-Smilex. Four guards surrounded the bed, Dr Leland was taking notes in the corner, and a team of doctors (whom received a continuous stink-eye from me) sedated her, then pushed the needle into her arm. I cringed; it looked painful. Then, they made me go back into the hall and wait.

Two hours dragged by in the waiting room before they updated me; little change. She was incoherent and prone to fits. The same story after four hours; they shot her up with a second dose at that time. Then, when the seven hour mark was near and I was seriously considering heading for home to wait anxiously by the phone, I received real news.

"She's been asking for you," said Dr Leland. "By name."

"How is she?" I asked as I trotted down the hall.

"A marked improvement," she assured me with a slight smile. "The hallucinations have apparently all but ceased, and she's crying more than laughing. I do have to warn you, however, that she is not quite back to her usual self; be prepared.

"And she's not... dangerous?"

"She's strapped down for her own safety, so even if she were violent..."

"Right." I found I was already standing outside her door. "Okay... here I go."

The lights had been dimmed. Swallowing hard, I stepped over to her bed, and I saw the streaks running down the side of her face. "Poor thing," I whispered, patting the hand where the IV had been attached.

"Speak for y'self," she muttered.

"Harley? You're- you're awake?!"

"Yeah," she laughed weakly, blonde head rolling over to look at me. Only now did I notice a slight greenish tint to her roots. "Christ almighty, Babs, you look so damn good ta me right now..."

"You, too, Harley. God, why did you have to scare me like that?!"

"I know... shoulda just been the designated driver again. Woulda avoided all this freakin' sideshow. _NO!_"

I blinked. "What, what?!"

"Nothin'," she whispered, nose twitching slightly. She acted so weak... "But ever since I got dosed - 'cos that's what they're tellin' me now, it was Puddin's old formula - I've been seeing... _him _everywhere. Like a ghost who won't quit hangin' around, rattlin' rusty old chains."

My face fell. "Oh."

"Babsy, don't... don't look at me like that, like I'm goin' back to Crazytown. I'm- I don't _want _it to happen, but-"

"You're _not,_" I said firmly. "I just... oh, I'm sorry you have to deal with it, that's all. Nobody should have to suffer through that."

Fresh tears appeared, and I wanted to look away to keep myself from joining her, but that would've been cruel. "You believed me. Even when I didn't believe myself. The whole time, y- you knew somethin' wasn't kosher. And... and you came to visit me, and I felt ten times better, even if-"

"You heard me?" I said with a pained smile, sniffing. "Even through the- the effects, you could hear me?"

"I could hear everybody," she insisted. "The whole time! Only... I had trouble distinguishing them from the shadows. OH!"

"What? Are you okay?"

"Him again," she sobbed, turning her head to and fro. "I... I want him to go away, if he'd leave me alone I could totally kick this!"

"You will," I assured her. "You'll pull through, and me and the boss will be waiting for you on the other side! Just... just get your rest, let the antitoxin work its magic."

"Babs?" When I didn't answer, she went on, biting her lip. "I... I want you to know something."

"What's that?"

"I'm always your friend. Even if I'm evil, or crazy or whatever, and even if you decide ya hate me, I... I'll be there for ya, no matter what. Bank on it."

"I was supposed to say that stuff," I laughed wetly, bending down to hug her; she craned her head upward as best she could. "Oh, Harley..."

"You better get back to the mission," she sniffled, sitting back. "I got some recuperating to do."

"Harley, I- I want to explain myself, if you'll listen..."

"Hm?"

"At the penthouse," I rushed ahead, kicking myself forward at every step. "Wh... when I was leaning forward? I- well, you seemed to think I was trying to take advantage of you or something, but that's- I'm not that kind of-"

"Forget about it," she said calmly. Upon closer inspection, I could see she was starting to drift off. "Babsy, I knew that... you're my compadre, and I... ain't worried..."

Then she was out; all those sedatives kicking in again. "Goodnight, Harley," I whispered, leaning over and kissing her on the forehead. "Sweet dreams... and I really do wish for that."

. . ᴥ . .

Though her symptoms had more or less disappeared by noon the next day, it took three more before she was released; Dr Leland signed off immediately and all the drug tests coincided with the changes in her mental condition, but that due process wasn't through with Harley, yet. At long last, however, she was tucked safely into the passenger seat of my car, ready to return to the land of the living.

"Whoo!" she sighed, leaning back in the seat. "Boy, am I glad to be wearing _pants!_ Thanks for the clothes loan, by the way." She stretched her arms above her head. "I don't think I can even _look _at any dresses for a _week;_ those frickin' hospital gowns make draftiness a priority!"

"Let's go to Burger King or something, I'm starving," I moaned, pulling out of the parking lot and flipping the AC on. The summer sun was asserting its presence.

"No, let's go to Friday's," she said with a mischievous grin. "My treat - I mean, not that I oughtta be throwin' the old ill-gotten gains around, but... y'know, what the hey? The girls are together again! Call Brucey and Timmy, let's have a Bat-Family reunion!"

"Wow, you're chipper," I giggled.

"What can I say? A taste of freedom's like a hundred milligrams of Prozac - I'm up, up, _up!_"

"Really?" My brow creased; I couldn't help but worry. "The shadows are gone?"

"Yeah," she said with a chuckle. "I mean, geez, the memories of them are scary enough - still havin' nightmares - but no, I ain't actually _seein'_ him anymore."

"Good," I sighed.

"Besides, I'd much rather be lookin' at you, Babs; you got better taste than to dye yer hair green."

My cheeks flushed. "Oh, cut it out."

After a second, she gasped. "Oops, I- that didn't come out the way I wanted it to, I- I just meant I missed you is all!"

"No, it's okay," I laughed, though I turned the AC up a notch. "You could start trying to give me head right now and it'd be less harrowing than seeing you in Arkham..."

Harley squirmed, then looked out the window. "Huh. That's one comment I'm, uh... kinda not sure how to feel about."

"Yeah." Though my face was red, I also felt like crying. "We lead unusual lives, I think."

"My fault," she sighed. "Your life was blissfully dull without me."

"Dull?!" I protested. "No, it wasn't, I- I did stuff!"

A wry grin began to blossom on her lips. "Oh, yeah? Like what, reciting the Dewey Decimal System?"

"You can't _recite _the-"

"Organisin' your Tupperware according to size and shape? Makin' sure you got eight-point-five hours of sleep each night?"

"Capturing the most hardened criminal element in Gotham City while swinging between rooftops?"

She hesitated. "Yeah, there's that, I guess. Still, all work and no play..."

"I played! I'm a player!" When her eyebrows went up, I caught my own foolish words. "Th-that is, no, I mean- hey!"

"Hey, what? _I _didn't say it!" Her arms folded, a faux-wounded expression coming over her. "Rebuffing my advances 'cos ya can't tie yourself down to one person. Shame on you!"

Again, I turned up the AC. "N- stop that! You know I'm not messing around with anybody else, I'd never do that to you, not w-"

Everything went dead quiet. Harley was looking at me intently, and I was focusing on the road. It was very important I watch the road; they tell you that all the time in driving school. The AC _still _wasn't blowing hard enough - did it have to be this hot today? Then, when I pulled up at a stop sign, she said, "Sorry, but... come again?"

"I- I only meant- dammit, Harley, I haven't made up my mind, so just drop it!"

Her lip quivered slightly. "No, I- I'm sorry, I wasn't tryin' to-"

"I know, I know, but- listen, all I meant was that I wouldn't go off and cheat when this is still up in the air, okay? That wouldn't be right."

I turned the corner, rolling up to another sign. "You don't hafta hold back on my account."

"Well, it doesn't matter one way or the other, because it's not like I have some huge list I've been meaning to get to. My dance card is blank."

"Babs, I would never, _ever _hurt you, okay?" she suddenly blurted. "Don't worry, I- gosh, I dunno why I'm sayin' this stuff. It's like..."

"Harley, there _has _to be someone else out there for you," I said weakly, rolling up at a red light and looking at her more directly. "What about Ivy? I mean, obviously I'm not privy to all the details, and she _is _making Arkham her permanent residence these days, but you and her seemed close for a while there, right?"

A bark of laughter escaped her throat. "Sure we were! Babs, I'd rather not talk about Pam right now, that's ancient history."

"Not to me, it isn't." I spared one more quick glance at her as the light changed to green. "What did she do that was so-"

"I _said _forget it," she said more harshly. "Don't make me pry open that musty old can o' worms, okay? That eco-Nazi was almost as opportunistic as Mister- I mean, The Joker. Christ, one trip back to the looney bin and all the stuff Joan fixed starts fallin' apart like badly-rolled sushi!"

"Okay, so I won't bring it up again," I muttered. "But I can't be at the top of such a short list, I mean, I... I'm such a stick-in-the-mud, and I have nothing-"

"I told you before not to do that," she said quietly, studying her fingernails. "You don't wanna hear what I think."

"Yes, I _do!_" I stated firmly, making such a sudden turn into a nearby elementary school parking lot that two vehicles honked at me.

"Barbara Gordon, have you completely lost it?!" Harley squawked, craning her head to look back at the individuals now giving us the finger. "What the hell's- what are ya tryin' to-"

I shifted into park. "Tell me. Give me whatever you have, I- I want to hear it."

She glanced at me fearfully before swallowing hard, eyes dropping into her lap. "No, ya don't. It's... gooshy."

"Yes, I do - you shouldn't have to censor yourself for me. Come on, put it out there."

"You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen."

My heart stopped. Maybe she _was _right...

"Every time I see you, I can't... my heart hiccups," she went on, still looking down at my floorboard. "Everything gets all floaty, and... Babs, I can't do this, I'm-"

"Don't stop now." My voice was shaking so much I could barely get the words out; where was this bravery coming from? Not from me - emotionally, I'm chicken shit. "Please. Don't hold back."

"You are so freakin' smart - much smarter than I was even _before _Mister J blew up my brain, degree or no degree. You got your head on straight, you made yourself a career - _two _of 'em, counting what you do for the people of Gotham! That's amazing, it's like knowin' Jane Goodall or- or Mother Teresa or somethin'! And... and you keep yer place so clean, you always know where everything is - and you're loyal to a fault, because for some reason you're loyal to me, which I think is probably the only stupid thing ya ever did."

This time, I couldn't tell if I was crying; my mind was filled with her outpouring. It was _so _much more than I deserved. "Harl..."

"You got this dry sense of humour that's much funnier than my cornball, Three Stooges schtick; I'm always tryin' _not _to laugh so much, 'cos it makes me sound like I'm head-over-heels and punch-drunk for you. And... and did I mention you're hot? 'Cos hey, that's like-"

"Harley, I-"

"Don't say anything," she snapped, almost angrily. When I'd recovered from the shock, I looked closer at her expression and saw she was actually humiliated and scared out of her mind, and I had to fight to keep from squeezing the hell out of her and stepping all over her confession. "Just... just take me back to my place for now."

"Wh-what? But no, I don't want you to go!"

"I wanna go," she sniffled. "For a little while. So I can stand being around you, knowin' I told you everything."

"Harley, please, I- I need you!"

Now she looked up at me, full of blazing intensity. "Need me _how?_"

"I... I don't know! I don't know yet, but-"

"Dammit!" She pounded a fist on her armrest. "I... I didn't wanna do this part so soon, I just got my freedom back!"

"I'm sorry," I sobbed. "I'm so, so, _so _sorry, I- I don't know what I was thinking, bugging you about it, I sh-should never-"

"Forget it," she sighed, smiling weakly at me. "You were tryin' to help. I mean... it was rough, and painful, but at least I'm not hidin' it anymore, and I guess that's kind of a relief."

We looked at each other for a long moment, and I found myself drinking in Harley - the slight green tint to her roots, the dark ringlets of fatigue under her eyes that still couldn't put a dent in her flawless features... how incredible she looked in my jeans. Any guy on the planet would give their left nut to sit near her on the subway, let alone talk to her, and here she was in my car, wearing my clothes, telling _me _that I was the only one she gave a rat's ass about. If I were a guy, this decision would have been easy - a no-brainer - but...

"Can I go home? I... we can do the victory dance tomorrow, if you still wanna."

"I do!" I blurted - then cleared my throat. "I mean, um... of course. I'd go now if..."

"Yeah." She wiped at her eyes, shivering slightly. "B-Babs, I'm... I'm cold."

The air was on full-blast; I was surprised frost wasn't forming on the windows. My hand twitched, ready to reach for the knob...

"I'm sorry for takin' a good thing and makin' it into an... issue. I'm s-"

She stiffened when my arms slid around her, cutting off mid-word when she started holding her breath. My chin came to rest on the top of her head as I drew her toward my chest. "Shh."

"Babs, what's-"

"I'm cold, too."

Arms snaked up from my hips and pressed into my back, and I stroked along the contours of hers, finally letting one hand rest behind her neck. The air got colder and colder, and I held on tighter, letting the smell of her favoured shampoo fill me up, glad for her warmth.

"Well, I m-meant ya should turn down the AC," she whispered wetly, nuzzling into me. "But this works."

"You are so much more to me than some maniac, or a- or a sidekick, or whatever. I... I'm not sure what I mean by that, because I really am a freaking dipshit, but don't ever think- don't..."

A happy sigh. "I won't."

"And why did you call me 'Dreamfish'?!"

"I called you what?" she laughed, pulling back to look up at me. "But I don't even _like _fish!"

Danger. In that moment, looking down into her misty blue orbs, feeling her in my arms... dangerous. My hand was at her cheek, and she was blinking in a bashful sort of way, pink lips parted the barest amount. God, what was I waiting for? What was I hung up on?

Then I glanced away for just a second, trying to clear my head so I could decide once and for all - and I saw a sizeable crowd of children no older than ten gathered outside the windows, eyes wide as saucers. One little girl was chewing on her fingernails, looking nervously toward the building as if she wanted to run off and tell a grown-up. Immediately, I flew backward into my seat, entire face painted crimson.

"What, what's wrong?" Harley asked. I felt terrible; she seemed quite hurt.

"We, um... we're the three o'clock matinee, Harley."

Her eyebrows knitted as she turned around. "Wh- _whoa,_ what the- where'd all these damn kids come from?!"

"Probably from the damn school I was stupid enough to park in front of," I groaned. A few of the boys had really goofy grins on their faces - and when I noticed that is when I leaned on the horn. "_GO BACK TO CLASS, YOU VOYEURISTIC PIPSQUEAKS!_"

They ran like hell.

"Yecch!" Harley muttered, face scrunching up slightly. "Now we're gonna be some pre-pubescent perv's wet dream! Ugh, that's-"

"Let's call Bruce and Tim, Harley."

She glanced over me. "Oh. Really? 'Cos we were kinda-"

"Oh, that can wait," I said firmly, though I was smiling. "You're still sane, and I want to drink to that. Besides, I'd rather it not be a crowd of _teachers _next time - they might look down on us doing unseemly things in front of impressionable young minds."

"Fair point," she laughed quietly. Then she rubbed her arms. "Cold again, though - turn that thing off!"

. . ᴥ . .

"To Harley's good health," said Bruce, raising his own glass. A scotch and soda, I think.

"To Harley," we echoed - Tim least enthusiastically. Though I could tell he continued to resent her for being on active duty when he wasn't, he seemed less and less bitter about it as time went on. And we did all drink to it - though my daiquiri was virgin. I also noticed Harley was content with a 7-Up - she didn't even want something with pigment, let alone alcohol.

"So," said Tim, grabbing a mozzarella stick, "is Harley... gonna be a Knight again?"

"I'd assumed so," said Bruce casually, though in a low tone. I'd seen him do it a thousand times; for all outward appearance, he was shooting the breeze with good friends, having what seemed to be intimate but wholly gossip-free discourse. "Though given what you've been through, I would certainly understand if y-"

"Don't worry, boss," she laughed. "I'm still in. Just gotta watch my back, I guess."

"Man, I hate this 'being a kid' crap," Tim grumbled. "But you'll see; I'll keep training, and when you're ready to have me back, I will be, too."

"At least you'll be getting regular exercise in the meantime," I put in cheerfully. Tim made a face, biting into his fried cheese. Harley spoke up to fill the lull.

"So, anything good happen while I was outta commission? Deeds of daring do to share?"

"The Penguin's back in Arkham," said Bruce. "Daring enough for you?"

"Super," I groaned. "Let's tell her all about the totally-useless bomb I had to pretend to diffuse, thereby letting a bunch of cut-rate doctors succumb to paranoia."

Tim's eyebrow went up. "Wanna try that again, in English?"

"It's why she wasn't with Harley when they took her to Gotham General," Bruce added.

"Well, duty calls," said Harley, smiling at me. "But nobody coulda known the Smilex would come back! That's- that's like a million-to-one chance, right?"

I stirred my drink. "Thanks for trying."

"C'mon, no guilty-face," she pleaded, her own bottom lip on full pout. "At least ya made sure I _got _to the hospital; they were _supposed _to take care o' the rest. Water under the bridge, now."

Those puppy-dog eyes were killing me. "Oh, fine. But I'm still saying a few Hail Marys."

The afternoon passed somewhat easily, with everybody eating their fill and wishing we had an antacid or six. Eventually, Tim said he had some kind of history test in the morning, so the fellowship broke up; Bruce went back to the mansion, and I offered Harley a ride home.

"No more cheesecake _ever,_" Harley moaned, rubbing her belly as she slouched down in the seat. "Why didn't I stop after the first slice?"

I smiled to myself. "Because you're a glutton."

"Hey!"

"Kidding, kidding." After a minute or so of driving down darkening roadways, I cleared my throat. "So... if you want, we could... go back to our earlier conversation?"

"Nah," she said pleasantly, though I could tell I'd put her on edge. "All I wanna talk about now is Alka-Seltzer and sleep."

"I'm serious, though; I feel like I keep asking you to put everything on hold, and it's... downright mean, that's what it is, and- and I think I'm r-"

"It can wait a little longer. We got time."

"Really?" We hit a red light, and I chanced a look over. "You're not mad?"

"Mad? I'm friggin' ecstatic!" Truly, her smile was earnest; if she'd only been trying to make me feel better, I would've seen it in her eyes. "Babs, c'mon, think- I'm a free woman, livin' in my own place, with a gal pal who'd breathe down the police's throat to get me sprung and doesn't even care that I'm sappier than a Spielberg flick! Plus, she's a superhero - and so am I! What would I have to be upset about?"

"I dunno," I muttered shyly. "You're sure, though?"

"Quit stressin'. We're gold."

Sooner than I'd have liked, she was back in her apartment with her doggy-bag, and not a great deal later, I was in mine. The wind had been taken out of my sails; I was actually about to say "I think I'm ready" when she cut me off. Would we _ever _get it over with? Anyway, Bruce was taking a solo watch, so I could get some much-needed rest for once...

. . ᴥ . .

But my subconscious had other plans. All night, I had dreams about Harley - every single one of a, shall we say, passionate nature. I kept waking up in a cold sweat, breathing hard, with my hand wormed into the front of my pyjama pants. I must have taken three cold showers.

The next morning, something came back to me; we had an event to attend. It was lucky I remembered right when I did, because it was that night.

"Hello?"

"Holy shit, Harley, we almost _totally _missed it!"

A slight pause. "Fine, thanks. How's things with you?"

"Oh, shut up," I snapped frantically. "What are you doing tonight?"

"Um... I dunno, probably a whole lotta nothin'. Why?"

"'Rent'!"

A long moment of silence. Then- "_Oh!_ Right, right, the tickets! Oy, that seems like another lifetime, now."

"Yeah, it kinda does," I laughed, not wanting to think too hard about that night because of what happened a few minutes after I suggested we see it together. "So, you still up for it?"

"Are you kidding? Sounds like a hoot! When is it?"

"7:30," I read off the ticket. "So if we take to the highways by about six, we'll be good, right?"

"Great! I'll be ready."

"Great. Bye!"

This warm, giddy feeling spread through me as I closed my phone. This couldn't end badly - there would be no alcohol to spike in the theatre. Finally, for the first time in almost two months, I could look forward to a peaceful evening with Harley; no mines to sweep, no bullets to dodge. The night belonged to us!

And maybe, just maybe, we could have a minute to talk afterward... if I could manage to force myself to go through with it.

END SESSION

* * *

In lieu of... well, something or other, I'd like to present the world at large with the official unofficial _Psalm of the Lark _original soundtrack deluxe edition bootleg. I assure you, these are only the cuts that suit the story best and/or are the most meaningful - and if you burn them off, they come to exactly the length of an 80-minute CD-R. Those of you with iTunes will have to spend a goodly sum on it, but if you already have a few of the songs... by the way, the NIN tracks are available free on nin dot com (they're both from The Slip), so that will save you a bit. Feel free to let me know what sort of deejay I am and whether or not I have a future in Hollywood soundtrack compilations.

1. "Over and Over" - Wilson Phillips  
2. "The Heart Of Life" - John Mayer  
3. "Psychobabble" - Frou Frou  
4. "Eyes Like Twins" - Wilson Phillips  
5. "Echoplex" - Nine Inch Nails  
6. "Near To You" - A Fine Frenzy  
7. "The Lark" - Kate Rusby  
8. "Stay" - Poets of the Fall  
9. "Fear" - Switchblade Symphony  
10. "Details In The Fabric" - Jason Mraz (ft James Morrisson)  
11. "This Doesn't Have To Be Love" - Wilson Phillips  
12. "Discipline" - Nine Inch Nails  
13. "We Are Broken" - Paramore  
14. "Whisper" - A Fine Frenzy  
15. "My Lover's Box" - Garbage  
16. "Yellow Bird" - Akeboshi  
17. "Shh" - Frou Frou  
18. "Say" - John Mayer

Also... I apologise for all the Wilson Phillips. Jessex is in an odd place lately.


	16. Plays And Predecessors

Session Sixteen: Plays And Predecessors

Wrong.

That one wasn't right.

Neither was that one. Ooh, it was hideous - Harley Quinn, why did you ever buy that thing?!

A fourth shirt joined the others on my bed; I had the makings of a pile. What was I going to wear? Nothing in my closet was good enough. Evidently, my tastes leave something to be desired - and I certainly wasn't going to be desired if I couldn't find something a little snazzier.

"No," I told myself aloud again. "You are _not _tryin' to 'hook' her - she's already yours, she's your best bud! Just find something that ain't pure ugly and make sure it's clean!"

All the same, I held up that halterneck I wore to the club the day she'd turned me down - I'd deluded myself into thinking she was watching me move in it, staring after me in the hallway. Babs didn't like girls; I just wanted her to like them, like me... so I imagined it. Dr Leland hadn't told me that's what was going on for sure, but she said I ought to consider the possibility; if a person wants something bad enough, even the sanest mind could lie to itself.

But I wasn't imagining things, now. I knew I wasn't! Okay, so she refused to come right out and say she liked me back - and just in case it was because she didn't, I was straining to pretend I didn't know - but I could feel it, I could feel it down to my core. In her apartment, when she couldn't stop herself saying the words I wanted to hear... when I was doped up and her mouth was inches from mine... in the car, with all those munchkins watching as she stroked my face so gently... too many "coincidences" meant they weren't coincidences anymore. It _had _to be the truth!

Still... what if she _didn't _like me back at all? What if I was projecting this onto her, making her react because I'd come on so strong to begin with? That thought killed me every time it popped up. I promised myself I'd let her make the first move, because I had let so much out of the bag that I didn't deserve to be bold anymore, but it was getting harder and harder to stay passive when she was right there, so vivid and comely... the goddess who brought me back to life.

I looked down to find the halterneck wadded into a ball in my nervous hands. It was too flashy for a day on Broadway, anyway. What else did I have?

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Calm down, Barbara. This is easy. Just do it. We're not about to take down Clayface again - it's a play. Easy. Let's go."

My palms started sweating as I buzzed.

"Yello?"

"It's me," I squeaked, then cleared my throat. Wow, I sounded like a complete wreck! Another deep breath. "Ready?"

"Y-yeah," the tiny box told me. Was it me, or was Harley out of breath? "Just- sorry, I'll be down in a min- _ow!_"

"Harley, what's-"

"I'm fine, don't worry! I'll be down in a minute!"

"Okay," I said, squirming.

Five minutes drifted by with me standing around on the porch of her building, wiping my sweaty hands on my blue jeans and glancing down at my sneakers. Had I dressed right? I looked like street trash; jeans, red t-shirt, Airwalks. One little braid on the side for flair. I really hoped this wasn't a big deal to her, because I was trying so hard to make it look like it wasn't to me. The way I saw it, if we took the pressure off the table-

"Hey!" she said as she breezed out the door, nearly causing me to back into a flowerbed. "Ready ta hit it?"

"Wow," I half-laughed, taking in her heavy olive-green skirt and red-and-black-striped hoodie. "You are hot shit tonight - or a mime."

"A mere trifle," she giggled, pirouetting for me. "You, too - who's the sexpot?"

"I dunno," I laughed, inwardly ashamed and amused that I forgot whose shirt I was wearing. "Who is it?"

A mock-thoughtful look came over her. "Well, it _looks _like David Bowie, and yer shirt _says _'Bowie', so I can only take a wild stab and figure-"

"Ergh," I moaned. "Maybe I need more ginkgo biloba in my diet?"

"Nah, we're good company - I don't even remember _your _name right now. Who are you, again?"

"Oh, leave me alone."

It took us about an hour to get out of Gotham and into Blüdhaven, and another ten minutes to find the place. So yes, we had about five minutes to spare before they closed the doors in our faces.

"Whew!" said Harley, taking a moment to dab at her forehead with a napkin from her bag. "Did we have to run across the street like that?"

"There's no crosswalk," I shrugged. "Not unless you wanted to walk to the end of the block and wait for it."

"Yadda, yadda, yadda," she grumbled, taking several deep breaths. "At least we're here. Do we... do we get snacks, or how's this work? I pretty much missed out on stage productions since I was the lead in 'Our Town' back in eighth grade."

"Well, some places serve drinks, but I don't-"

"I'm good," she said immediately, trying not to laugh. "Lemme powder my nose and I'll be right out. Save my seat?"

"Sure thing."

As I sat in the full, darkened theatre, I wondered how this was going to go. Were we going to be able to giggle and have a good time, or was I going to end up "making a move" or something? Would _she _make a move? I got the feeling she'd been trying to dial it down lately, but this had all the makings of a date-date, and...

...and I had to pee. A lot.

The lobby was mostly empty by now; "One million, twenty-five thousand, six-hundred minutes" would be sung out at any moment. Gritting my teeth, I made for the women's restroom-

And as I pushed open the door, I heard something that sounded like an electrical appliance shorting out, followed by a gasp and a "_THUMP!_"

"Hello?!"

Then I heard a scrabbling noise; my dander was up. Ducking a bit lower, I burst inside, eyes sweeping the scene and hands at the ready - just in time to watch a foot disappearing out of the open window. Glass was everywhere; it had been smashed long before I got there.

Harley was sprawled in the floor in front of the sinks, mouth open, tongue lolling out. Lying next to her was a full syringe - the cap was still on.

My heart, dead calm a moment ago when I'd gone into battle mode, thundered in my chest. What happened? Who jumped out the window? Glancing back toward the door, I grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser and picked up the syringe.

"No," I breathed.

A yellow smiley face was on the side. Smilex. _More _Smilex. Were they distributing it nationwide, now?

"Bruce," I snapped into my cell phone the exact second it connected, "we've got a situation."

"Excuse me, miss, but I think you have the wrong number." It _was _Bruce, though - why did he sound like he was doing a toothpaste commercial?

"Harley's out cold," I said, trying not to sound like I was having a heart attack. "I found a needle next to her - it's Smilex. They didn't have time to dose her, though."

"That's terrible," he said in the same voice. Where was he that he couldn't speak normally? "Is there anything I can do?"

"All I saw of the perpetrator was his or her shoe," I went on as if he hadn't spoken. "This is getting ridiculous, and I'm ready to kill. Should I keep the needle, or turn it over to Blüdhaven PD?"

"Keeper, right," he said - he didn't want the police handling this. "Cute name. Well, good luck finding your dog, ma'am."

"Uhh... right. And call me back when you don't sound like Bob Barker."

Bruce laughed genuinely; I'd got a good zing in. "Bye-bye."

"Harley!" I hissed, slapping her about the face as I stashed the towel-wrapped needle in her purse. "Harley, wake up, can you hear me?"

"Mmmhh..." she wailed, eyes twitching as she reeled her tongue back in. "Nnnohh... wha?"

"Harley, you were almost dosed again, don't you care?"

It was no use; she was a fish. I even resorted to running water into my hands and throwing it on her face, and she still wouldn't come around; whatever they'd done to her, it was no joke. Several girls came in, gawking at her, and I had to explain that she was hyperglycemic and forgot her insulin, but that she would come around eventually. Such fun.

The play was in the second act when she finally opened her eyes. The first thing she said was, "Did anybody get the number of that Dodge RAM?"

"Harley!" I gasped, throwing my arms around her neck. "Christ, I was about to call the ambulance - I mean, it didn't exactly help _last _time, but y-you were out for so long, and-"

"Oh, Babsy," she groaned as I released her. "Every friggin' muscle in my body is screaming... what the-"

"Somebody was trying to turn you into a junkie," I said, showing her the syringe. "Unless you were backsliding all by yourself?"

"Oh, shiitake," she whimpered, backing away from me and the Smilex. "N-no, I- no, I don't- how'd they find me?!"

"How should I know?" I muttered, glaring down at it. "But I'm pissed, now. Well, I was pissed before, but I'd forgotten about it when you were released from the looney bin."

"Again?!" she burst out. "And in a bathroom?! Augh... and what did they knock me out with? My whole body feels like a bruise!"

"A Taser, I'd say." I stashed the needle again and walked over to sit next to Harley on the cold, cold tile. "I thought I heard a discharge of electricity before I came in."

"This is gettin' _real _old, _real _quick," she spat. "If they'd gone through with it, I'd hafta go _back _to the hospital, _back _to Arkham, get _another _dose of Smile-B-Gone, and wait for the bigwigs to gimme my stamp of approv-"

"I know, Harley," I sighed, putting a comforting arm around her. "You have no idea how relieved I am that we don't have to go through all of that again, even if I didn't catch the creep."

A deep sigh issued from her chest as her head dropped onto my shoulder. "I've had it. Can Brucey stick a miniature camera up my nose that'll broadcast continuously? I want a picture of the bum so I can grind 'im into a paste myself."

Without warning, a tsunami of déjà vu washed over me, and I caught my breath; I'd felt this exact moment before. A brush with death, Harley's head on my shoulder... seemed like a long time ago. When was it? Before I could pin it down, I had another thought that was more powerful still.

It felt as good as it had the last time. I could remember thinking at that moment how comforting it was to have her nestled close to me like that, but back then it had also been somewhat disturbing. Now, I only felt warmth and familiarity mingling with the nostalgia.

"Looks like I owe you again."

"Hmm?"

"You drove 'im off, didn't ya?" she asked, chuckling in a glum fashion. "I kinda wish, just once, I could maybe save you, 'cos you keep lookin' out for me, and... I dunno, I come off all needy."

"Don't worry about it. At this point, I think it makes me the selfish one."

She drew back to look at me. "Der?"

"If I hadn't been watching your back, I wouldn't have you around anymore, would I? Nothing altruistic about that."

"Don't be dumb," she said with a smile. "Hey... weren't we here for some reason?"

"Oh, right - the play." Gingerly, I helped her to her feet. "You still want to see what's left of it?"

"Well... not so much. There's no point comin' in so late, I'd be totally lost, but... hey, there's gotta be somethin' else to do in the Sister City, right? Can't we look up the old Robin?"

My heart did a bizarre, sideways lurch. "Uhhh... can we not? That would just be uncomfortable."

"Right, right," she laughed. "Sorry - yeah, you're right, dumb idea."

As we exited the lobby, Harley hungrily wolfing down a chili dog I'd bought her from the concession stand to help her shake off the Taser shock, I rethought the matter; perhaps it would be good for our newest teammate to meet some of the alumni. "You know what? If you _want _to meet him, I think I know how to find him."

"You do?" She frowned, wiping a dab of sauce from her lip. "No, I- you don't wanna go, that'd be unfair."

"Well, it'll be a tiny bit awkward, but still... good to see him again, find out how he's holding up. Maybe he doesn't miss _us _anymore..."

"But you still miss him?"

Whoa - _that _was a painful accusation. "No, no! I don't... not like _that!_ We were broken up _long _before he moved away, don't-"

"Down, Simba!" Harley giggled, though her eyes were still sober. "You don't hafta rationalise to me."

"But I'm not! Dick and I are ancient history, I swear - you know I wouldn't run around on-"

_HONK!_

In hindsight, even though I ended up stubbing my toe on the curb as we vaulted onto the sidewalk, it was a lucky thing that truck happened along when it did... and we were standing in the middle of the road. It prevented me from blurting out something very, very incriminating.

"Whew," Harley gasped. "That was- that was close!"

"Ergh..."

"Babs, maybe we _should _get outta this berg before w- before... Babs?"

Why couldn't I have remembered to go while we were camped out in the restroom?

"I think we'll go pay our respects to Nightwing."

"Y-yeah?" said Harley as she took off her hoodie so I could wrap it around my waist. "Wh-why is that?"

I smiled humourlessly. "Well, I'm going to have to change anyway..."

. . ᴥ . .

"So... you sure this is gonna work?"

"Harley!" I growled as my face dropped into my palm. "It's only been ten minutes. He's not Tide To Go - have some patience."

"But it's friggin' cold up here," she whined, rubbing her arms through her spandex sleeves. "And it was so _hot _yesterday!"

"It's windy, that's all. We _are _on top of the tallest building."

"Could we move to that one?" I followed her finger to a building about eight stories shorter than the one we were perched on. "These other skyscrapers'll block the wind better."

"No!" I snapped. "That won't accomplish anything but to p-"

"Should I come back later?"

We froze. Crap - this was not the way I saw this introduction playing out. "Nightwing."

"Batgirl." When we turned, I saw his arms were already crossed over his chest (_OH MY GOD, HIS FREAKING CHEST!_ ...ahem, sorry) as he leaned against the roof access door. Okay, I hate to admit it, but he only got hotter with time; even though we'd long ago concluded that romance was not in the cards for us, that didn't make him any less attractive. "Long time."

"Longer for me," I pouted, relaxing into a more casual stance. "You never answered my last email."

"Sorry - my computer had a virus. Wiped out my entire inbox." When I rolled my eyes, he said, "No, really - I'm serious."

"Pathetic excuses _are _serious - they're what you cook up when you really don't care."

"Fine, don't believe me." After a momentary staring contest, his gaze shifted. "So... are you going to introduce me?"

"Of course," I said, clearing my throat. "Well, I mean, I don't know if you heard, but Robin is-"

"Oh, I heard." He turned to stare out over the Blüdhaven skyline, long, black hair billowing out behind him (he did make for a striking figure). "This many years in this line of work... The Joker dies... trust me, I found out everything I could. Poor Tim. I'm just glad it wasn't Jason all over again."

That shot me through the heart. "I hadn't even thought of that... but yeah, he's doing much better, now. Totally back to normal."

Dick smiled bitterly. "Like any of us could ever be _that _again. And he was promptly given the ol' pink slip, like I was. The more things change..."

"Yep." We should have been guzzling Jack Daniels during this miserable conversation, I thought. I cleared my throat. "So, um, anyway... it's kind of a long story, but-"

"Mm, her." He turned around now, sizing Harley up; she smiled awkwardly. "A couple rumours floated my way that there was a new Robin... that isn't a Robin. I mean, what's-"

"The Lark," she volunteered; I almost laughed when I heard the serious tone in her voice. She did take her job very seriously these days. "Pleasure."

"Another Gotham Knight," he said, walking around her. One hand was on his chin, the other in the crook of the first's elbow. "Definitely one of his designs. What's with the ridges on the cowl?"

"I don't know," I sighed with a shrug. "Something about a breed of lark having them; you know how he gets. What's the differen-"

Nightwing's leg swept under hers, and she almost went down hard - but her hand found the concrete, and she sprang back into a crouch. Scarcely a second passed before he was upon her again, fists aiming for her face and sternum; she dodged right, then back. A kick aimed for her midsection was avoided when she ran up the roof access door, flipping to land behind him, but in the time it had taken her to complete the maneuver, Dick had produced an eskrima stick.

"I'd forgotten he used those," I muttered to myself, biting the inside of my lip.

Harley's hands were up; she was ready to dig her heels in. Nightwing was spinning the staff on either side of his body, then behind him - showoff. Her eyes followed his every movement until the stick came from nowhere, aiming for her head - she ducked. It came at her feet - she jumped. When he tried a jab into her abdomen, she dodged to the side and caught it, jerking it out of his hands as she aimed a kick for his ribcage.

"Ooh," he said as he caught her leg; it was less than a centimeter away from its target. "Decent. I gotta s-"

The kick to his head with her other leg actually caught him off-guard; I could tell he dodged it at the very last second. The battle was over when he lunged forward, knocking the staff she'd used to support her last attack out from under her. Before she hit the ground he'd already recovered his weapon, and the moment she tried to get up he held the end at her throat.

"_Really _decent," he said with a smirk. "Damn, that was close."

"Uncle?" she said, flashing him a nervous grin.

"Don't feel bad," he said as he offered her a hand up, which she took. "You may be training with the master, but I'm already a third-degree Bat-Belt."

"Ugh," I moaned, rejoining them. "You went there. Why?"

"I think _you _were the one that came up with that designation," he fired back as he stashed the staff wherever it was he kept it. "Anyway... I approve."

"Thanks a bunch," said Harley, rubbing her bruised behind. "Oy, why's everybody tryin' to clean my clock today?"

When Dick looked questioningly toward me, I said, "Someone knocked her out and tried to drug her earlier."

"Did you see anything?"

"Nada," said Harley, hands clasped behind her head. "They musta been pretty stealthy; I was already kinda spooked from the window bein' busted... but then again, this _is _Blüdhaven."

"A local girl," said Dick. Great - he was scrutinising. "She's about our age - kind of old for the Bat to be taking under his wing."

"I am _not _old!" she protested.

He smirked again. "Nice pigtails."

"C'mon, Dick, cut it out," I sighed. "Do you have to make a case out of it? I thought I'd do the courteous thing and arrange a meet-and-greet as long as we were in town, but if you're going to be-"

"What _are _you doing on the grittier side?" he asked, effectively shifting focus away from his rudeness.

"'Rent'," said Harley.

"Ohhh... Really? I heard that was pretty good."

A snort. "We wouldn't know; I was havin' too much fun being accosted in the toilet."

"Did you recover anything that might help? Evidence?"

"Just the drug that the bastard didn't quite have enough time to inject," I sighed, withdrawing the syringe from a pouch. "A quick dusting didn't reveal any prints."

"No," he said when he saw the sticker. I thought I saw his breathing quicken, as well. "Smilex."

"Relax - the Joker is more than dead. Saw his clammy white body with my own eyes... helped bury it, actually. This has to be a copycat or s-"

"You did?"

Perhaps there were a few things I'd forgotten to mention to Harley. When I turned to look at her, I saw she had this odd expression on her face that said she was rather uncomfortable with the idea. "Oh - yeah. I mean, uh, I guess it slipped my mind. So much was going on..."

"Wait a minute," said Nightwing, looking between us. "Were you _supposed _to tell her? I didn't think this girl came on the scene until _after _you put the Joker down and Tim was dismissed. What's...?"

It was getting more intense. Would Dick be able to handle The Lark's identity? The little voice in the back of my mind was telling me it wasn't likely. "It's nothing - unfinished business with the past."

"Really?" His eyes narrowed in that specific manner I knew he'd inherited from his surrogate father. "Am I allowed to ask about The Lark's origin story?"

"Well," Harley began nervously, still visibly shaken from finding out I'd personally laid her former sadistic lover to rest, "Once upon a time in Ninety-Four-"

"Don't be cute," I groaned.

"Aw, c'mon, Babs - you could cut the tension with a knife! There's nothin' like an old-school R-and-B reference ta put you in a better mood, right?"

"That voice..." Hell. He was putting two-and-two together, anyway; yet another thing he'd picked up as Batman's right-hand man. Maybe Bruce had taught him _too _well. "Pigtails... where have-"

"We should get back," I said quickly. "Tonight was my night for patrol, and we both took my car here- actually, I think I'm double parked, and if-"

"Who are you?" he demanded... in the way that told me he'd already figured it out. His nostrils were flaring, and veins were standing out against his neck.

"Let's go," I ordered Harley under my breath, but she was frozen to the spot.

"I deserve that much," said Nightwing through gritted teeth. "I want to know who that old man has decided to team up with now - who you've been working alongside. Do I need to go back there and beat some sense into him?"

"Don't overreact. You weren't there, you don't know the whole-"

"I know enough." His staff was out again, and this time he wasn't playing games. "Aren't there any lines anymore? Is everything grey to him?"

"Stand _down,_ Nightwing." Batarangs were in both of my hands. "This has gone far enough; we don't have any reason to fight."

"No reason?! You're _working _with the _enemy!_"

Suddenly, I felt my skin growing hot; he had a lot of nerve. "What do _you _know?" I snarled. "Mr Lone Wolf thinks his opinion still counts for something! Well, guess what?! You are _not _a Gotham Knight anymore!"

"How much does she know?" The grip on his staff was tightening; he was almost through talking. "How many of our secrets could she blow wide open at a moment's notice, all because _he _made another bad draft pick? That's insane - and if she is who I _think _she is, then _she's _insane, too, or did you conveniently forget that part?!"

"You are _out of line,_ Dickybird!"

"_You're _out of your _mind,_ Barbie Girl - _all of you are!_"

"_ALRIGHT, ALREADY!_" shouted Harley. Without a hint of reservation or fear, she walked straight up to him - and before I could stop her, she was ripping off her mask, staring him directly in the eyes. I'd rarely seen her features blazing with such intensity. "Got a good enough look, Boy Wonder-Where-He-Went?! Holy Harlequins, it's the henchbitch!"

Dick was so taken aback that he forgot he was going to attack; his jaw was hanging open. Apparently, Harley realised she was exposing herself to the night, because she replaced the hood. "Now look again. People change. You did - ya got outta Dodge, switched from reds to blues, went with the mullet. I'm not gonna apologise for my past, 'cos I _can't _- not if I started now and kept goin' 'til I was eighty-five. I know what I was, what I am. So tell me: you got a better plan for me? Prison? Arkham? What'll it do for the people of Gotham?"

Wind was howling, picking up mine and Harley's capes and fluttering them. Cars honked far below. Finally, Nightwing stepped back, glaring down at her as if deciding if he really should attack. "Might put their minds at ease. Having Harley Quinn as a protector? What makes you think you have the _right _to-"

"Like they even know it's me," she laughed harshly. "Sheez, I know I don't deserve this better than anybody - but somehow, I got a foot in the door. I'm not gonna waste the opportunity to start makin' amends."

"You listen to me this once." His growl was murderous, but he had lowered his staff slightly. "Maybe you really are a paragon of virtue lately - and that'll be a welcome change. But if I have to come back to Gotham to bury Barbara, or Bruce, or Tim, or anyone else I know because you got them killed, you won't see it coming. You might not even _feel _it."

Though her lip trembled, the rest of her face was set. "If I got Babs killed... you wouldn't have to bother."

That stunned him - making it twice within the same five minutes. After a moment, his head cocked to the side as he turned to me and asked, "Just what happened between you two?"

"She saved my life." Harley came right out and said it before I had a chance to think. "Like, four times now."

"Hmm... why?"

"Dick, that's uncalled for," I flung at him, taking a step forward. "_Every _life has value - or don't you believe that anymore?"

He shook his head, staring off into the distance. "The Joker, though... if there was any man I could have brought myself to kill, it would probably have been him. And she- I don't know how you thought this was a viable option, Barbara."

"It's not some proposal Bat Incorporated voted on over a power lunch, you dork! It just sort of... happened. It's none of your business, anyway - but she's stepped up, and the job is hers. She owns it, now."

"C'mon, Richie," said Harley with a smile. "Don't hate me 'cos I'm byootyful."

"That's _not _funny," he snapped, walking over to a ledge and producing his Batrope - or Wingrope, or whatever. As an afterthought, he said over his shoulder, "And it's _not _a mullet, chili-breath." Then he was gone.

"That went well," I sighed.

"It went horrible," Harley wailed, sliding to her knees. "He hates my freakin' guts. Maybe he's right - if I can't even meet a relocated Knight without him tryin' to pummel me into pesto, how can I call myself a heroine?"

"He _didn't _pummel you," I reminded her, taking out my own rope. "And he joked around with you. You have to understand, coming from Nightwing, that almost means you're brother and sister."

Those blue eyes blinked in the moonlight. "Y-you sure? He sounded pretty peeved to me."

"Give him time. He'll get over your past, just like Bruce did. Like I did."

"But maybe you guys _shouldn't _get over it! Maybe it makes more sense for me to go to jail, or- or go back to Arkham, make sure I'll never hurt anybody agai-"

"Screw that!" I snapped. "What, you're wimping out on us? All that stuff you said to Dick about restitution, and you changed your mind just now? Don't be an airhead!"

After a few seconds, Harley took out her rope and walked up next to me, a grin slowly erasing her worried features. "I almost kicked his ass."

"You did."

"And he's the original Robin! That's like lastin' eight rounds with Joe Frazier!"

I laughed. "See? You were made for this."

"Let's blow this crummy town, Bee-Gee."

My eyes rolled, though I couldn't stop smiling. "Ready when you are... Lark."

END SESSION


	17. Showered With Satisfaction

Session Seventeen: Showered With Satisfaction

For all the fuss my ex-boyfriend was making, he never did contact Bruce about putting Harley on the team; I think her attitude and combat skills impressed him enough that he was content to watch and wait. Wonderful, I say.

I didn't see Harley much for a week or two outside of the "Knight shift" (I'm so very, very sorry for that one). It's not that we didn't want to get together - we did! Time, however, is not my friend and never has been. I was working later hours than usual, and Harley was spending a lot of time trying to secure her own employment. Unfortunately, she was having little to no success, because - as she so rightly stated - most businesses weren't keen on putting their customers in the same room with a madwoman. It's the kind of record that truly haunts you for life, even after you forgive yourself.

During this mellowing period in which my life tried its best to be more or less normal, I wasn't exactly pursuing any elusive brass rings. The scant hours I had to myself in the evening between my two jobs were spent exercising while watching television - I had TiVo-ed the first season of Dark Angel once upon a time, and I thought it was about time I caught up on it. Of course, watching the show didn't leave me feeling especially fulfilled. First of all, it's about mutant superheroes, which isn't that exciting when you practically are one - and second of all, getting to know the character of Original Cindy only shook up feelings I'd been trying not to stress over. And yet, I continued to watch... I must have seen something in it.

That, and Seinfeld reruns. Irreverent hilarity.

As the weather grew balmier still, Bruce finally got back to me on the needle full of happy crap our poor Lark had almost incorporated into her bloodstream for the second time. He didn't have much to say.

"The same formula," he affirmed. "No prints or DNA, nothing I can track. Sorry."

I almost laughed. "Perfect. Why didn't you just say, 'Don't waste our time, Barbara'?"

"It won't feel like a waste of time when we catch this pest," he muttered, placing it on the table and staring at it as if willing it to reveal its owner's identity. "Oh, and by the way... I thought you might find this interesting."

He was holding a page of printouts and a test tube out to me. "Yes, those are _very _interesting."

"It is to laugh," he said flatly. "According to my results, the 'fear gas' Scarecrow was using and that our mystery assailant has adopted is a chemical agent that awakens anxieties in the subconscious."

"I thought we knew that."

"We did - except I was operating under the assumption that it draws out whatever that person's deepest, darkest fear is, but... now I'm not so sure. It seems as if it could be anything that may have been troubling the subject recently."

This was leading nowhere fast. "Meaning...?"

"For instance, if you're an employee of a corporation that's recently begun downsizing, you might see the building trying to swallow you alive. Or if you demolished your father's expensive car - you may see the accident over and over, or your father chasing you with a halberd. Your greatest fear could be snakes, and you might not see a single one."

"So... it's not necessarily that we're _afraid _of what we're seeing," I said slowly, "just that... we're _worried _about it?"

"Exactly," he said, turning back to the printouts thoughtfully. "I'm not sure of his goal, there..."

"Um... mind if I ask a silly question?"

"Mm."

"Does it matter now? We put Crane away - he's back in Arkham. He can't use any of it, now."

Bruce raised a single eyebrow at me. "And how many times has he been in Arkham?"

"...good point." I yawned, stretching. "Say, do you know where Harley is? I thought she was just getting off her shift."

"You thought correctly; she's in the showers. Why?"

"Just had something to ask her, that's all."

"Well, don't be too long - I need you out there tonight. The Wakizashis and the East Side Shamrocks have been grating on each other's nerves lately, and I want someone ready to break it up. Doesn't take long to turn into a bloodbath."

"You're not kidding - a Shamrock initiation got crashed last Thursday, and it took Harley fifteen minutes to take down everybody involved. Two kids died in the scuffle." My frown suddenly grew to a smile. "The kid they were initiating asked her for her number - can you believe that?"

"As long as she didn't give him the Batline," he grunted, shaking his head. "All we need is for the Smilex Shinobi to trace the number and make yet another attempt from within headquarters."

"Right." I was halfway to the stairs when I turned back. "Oh, I almost forgot to ask you - why did you sound so cheesy when I called you from Blüdhaven?"

"I was in a meeting," he said mildly. "I do have a business to run, you know."

Up the stairs, out of the grandfather clock, into the foyeur, up another flight. My hands automatically yanked the hair tie out as I made my way to the spacious, luxurious shower I knew Harley liked to use (rather than the cold and functional ones in the Cave). Since we'd been so busy leading separate lives, I was thinking I'd invite her over for some quality couch potato time at my place. A pizza or two would go well with that - and a few wine coolers would be okay, as long as they were factory-sealed and hadn't been tampered with. Unremarkable, sure, but we'd seen next to nothing of each other lately, so I figured it was time to make a formal occasion out of _something._

Bruce had told me I wasn't "afraid" of Harley climbing all over me. Though I'd all but forgotten about what had happened at the Gotham Water Works, that was some small comfort - I was only "worried" about it, and I knew that much. Too bad this knowledge wouldn't make me any less of a train wreck when I was around her.

"Harley?" I called through the door as I knocked. No answer; I could never hear anything through those huge oak doors, anyway. Glancing around, I pushed it open. "Harley, are you in here?"

"What?" Her soggy blonde head poked itself out from around the curtain. "Oh, hey, Babsy. What are you doin' here?"

"Nothing." I listened to the sounds of droplets pounding tile for a minute before I said, "So... how'd it go out there?"

"Dull and duller," she laughed from within the shower. "You woulda hated it - not even a mugging."

"Good for humanity... bad for us."

"I know, right?"

My shoes took me further into the bathroom. I shouldn't be here. Instinct told me I was being rash, that I should take a moment to think through where I was and what I was doing... and instead, I sat down on the toilet. "Oh, hey, I had a crazy idea. Wanna hear it?"

"You know me - 'crazy' is pretty much my middle name!"

"Yeah," I laughed, then stopped. "Hmm... hey, what _is _your middle name?"

A pause. The steam was beginning to make me light-headed. Probably because I was fully-clothed; that particular pair of capris didn't breathe well. "Wouldn't _you _like to know?"

"Fine, fine, be that way. So, right, the idea - there's an MXC marathon on tomorrow night, and I know how much you love it, so what if-"

"Ooh!" she squealed, poking her head out again. "Really?!"

"Yeah," I giggled, watching the shampoo suds run down her face. "What do you think? Set up at my place and watch 'til we can't watch no more?"

"Sounds like a pl-_ow!_"

"Geez," I sighed as she disappeared again, knowing that would happen. "Need any help?"

"No, no, I got it. _Ow!_"

"What now?"

"Whacked my knee on this verschtunken soap caddy thing," she told me. "My eye burns, too."

Now I was trying not to laugh at her. "Um, maybe you should get out of that shower before you destroy yourself piece by piece."

"Don't laugh, it could happen." We were both quiet as she tended her wounds. "Um, Babs?"

"Yeah?"

"D'you mind...?"

"_Oh!_" I looked down at the tile, fidgeting. Here I was in the same room as naked Harley; for her, this must be really uncomfortable, and my own discomfort blossomed into being at that realization. "Oh, I- I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking, this- we're not- I'm sorry, I'll go, I-"

"No no, wait!" When I fell silent, she giggled. "Just pass me the towel, willya?"

"The towel! I mean, y-yes, hang on, where is it?"

"On the sink."

Why was I shaking? She'd spooked me; I felt like the kid who _thinks _his parents have figured out how he's sneaking out at night, but in actuality they decided the tree next to his second-story window was an eyesore. My heart was racing, head spinning, and I was trying to find white fabric in all this fog...

"Babs? Still out there?"

"Yeah, just a- there it is!" Grinning in triumph, I snatched it off the countertop and trotted back toward the shower-

I'm sure you see where this is going. Actually, I could probably skip this next part entirely, since anybody who's ever watched a movie or read a book has come across something like this... if it hasn't happened to them personally. Nevertheless, for the six or seven of you out there who have yet to experience this live or vicariously...

There was a rug. A stupid bathroom rug was placed right outside the shower - and unlike most of these things, it had nothing to prevent slippage on the bottom. Some superheroic reflexes I have.

"_AAAGH!_"

"Wha- _OOF!_"

Curtains. Rain. Limbs. A fluffy white towel becoming soaked and useless. It was all now part of the tossed salad we call 'Harley's Shower'.

"Omigod, what did I-"

"Babs, are you cracked?! Get offa me!"

"I'm sorry! Shit, I- where's-"

"_Mmmph!_"

Finally, one of my palms found a stretch of wet tile and pushed upward; Harley was still on the bottom, trapped beneath the curtain. From what I could see, she couldn't breathe.

"_Harley!_"

"_Mmhhmhh!_"

"Christ - hang on!" Fingernails clawed half-blindly, trying to find the edges, but all I found was more of the dark violet material. Now I could feel her hands pushing at it from the other side; she wasn't content to wait, and I didn't blame her. Water kept getting in my eyes. "Where is it? Hang on, Harley, I'll figure out-"

"_Oooh!_" she burst out, having just barely freed her face. "Hail Mary, mother o' _GOD_, I can't believe how good that feels!"

"I'm sorry!" I sobbed. Had I really almost accidentally killed Harley - _in the shower?!_ There's only one Alfred in Wayne Manor, and his last name is Pennyworth, not Hitchcock! "What is _wrong _with me? I'm supposed to be a trained crimefighter, and I- I- I trip on a carpet swatch!"

"Babs, could you- could you get off?" she panted. "I'm- yer knee's in my-"

"Why don't I just sell myself to a travelling carnival? 'Come see the one and only Bumbling Batgirl, the eighth wonder of the world! Marvel at the way she can ruin even the simplest of situations!'"

"_BARBARA!_" When I blinked down at her, she nodded southward.

Let's play a quick little game. Why don't you think of the absolute worst word that could follow "your knee is in my..."

"Oops," I breathed.

"Yeah, well, could you maybe remove it?" she gasped, trying to wriggle backward while blinking wetness from her eyes. "This ain't my idea of a good time."

"Harley..." She stared up at me, half-annoyed, half-embarrassed... and maybe there was a twinge of resentment in there. Looking into her face, a calm chill settled over me. "I'm sorry. Hang on, I'll stand up."

"Babs?"

I did stand, and stepped out of the shower. "I'll let you get dressed."

"Oh, don't be grumpy," she sighed, holding the curtain tightly to herself as she inched up the wall. "Ya tripped, I get that. I'm not exactly known for having a flawless grace, myself, y'know. You are among friends, Bumbling Batgirl."

She was trying to cheer me up. My cowardice and indecision had almost suffocated her, and she was _still _trying to cheer me up. "You don't have to do that."

"Do what? Seriously, human beings have gotta be the most awkward species on the planet; mammals weren't meant to be bipeds. Nothin' new, here."

"But I... I was so nervous, and- why? Why does everything have to be a battle? If we could just get through one day that didn't read like an episode of Nine-Oh-Two-One-"

"It's not _that _terrible," she said, smiling the tiniest bit as she finally turned off the tap. "We got issues. Most people do, it comes with that cuckoo package we call life."

"Why aren't you mad?" I demanded. "You should be really cheesed off - I almost destroyed the shower, and- and now you have to get a dry towel!"

"So I'll get another one. Watch, it's easy - they're in this cabinet right h-"

"But that's not the point! Jesus, Harley, lately you and I have been so weird - like, 'Outer Limits' weird, and it's- it's like we need to finally- but no, all I do is- I- I..."

My voice went dead as I watched Harley step from the tub, leaving the curtain behind. Every detail of her form was being etched into my memory - a small birthmark was on her right thigh, just below the cheek, a thin scar under her shoulderblade. Was this happening? Had I passed out from the heat and moisture? Drips traced their way down her naked back, leaving a trail of miniature puddles as she came to the cabinet and opened it.

"You what?" she said softly.

"I..." But I couldn't get anything else out. I wanted to - I wanted to pretend I wasn't seeing this, that I wasn't absolutely mesmerized, to act like I was unaffected, but I found it impossible. She was too breathtaking.

"We need to... what?" she asked, turning to face me now as she toweled off... her hair. _MINX!_ Allow me to say this: she was equally perfect from the front. Though I valiantly tried to muster anything - words, maybe even an action - all I could do was gape. I was at her mercy.

"Uh, we... we need... I need..."

"_You _need?" she whispered, blinking at me curiously. She knew what she was doing. This was a game to her, a game that I was losing at very soundly, and yet... I wasn't angry. "What is it you need, Babs?"

Presently, she got around to mopping at her chest and abdomen, and at that time I looked up into her face. "Harley?"

"Hmm?"

"I- Igottago," I blurted, trying to grab the doorknob... but I missed, instead banging the back of my hand on it. "_Owitch!_"

"Babs," Harley whispered. The throbbing pain on my hand brought me a shred of my senses back; I didn't want to look. There was too much to see, too much I couldn't _let _myself see, but she was talking and I-

Safe. She'd wrapped the towel around herself. "Don't."

"Don't wh-what?" I stammered, blowing right past her to the cabinet where the towels were. I was soaked, too, and I couldn't escape this porcelain nightmare only to ruin Bruce's hallway runners - or slip and break my neck on the stairs, which would make a certain kind of karmic sense at this stage. "N-nothing's wrong, we're fine, and I- I'm going to catch a cold, remember? If I d-don't-"

"Then I'll do what I did last time."

It took forever to turn around and face her again; her towel was still wrapped tightly around her lithe body. All at once, hands were raising my arms above my head, stripping off my shirt... unbuttoning my capris. "I don't want you ta get sick, okay?"

"Harley?"

"Babs?"

"What... what's going to happen, here?"

The tears were too hot to be water from the shower, and they stung too much. Harley watched them fall, knowing what they were, and swallowed hard. "Nothing you don't want to."

Thin fingers traced their way up my stomach, over my bra; I inhaled sharply. As I looked on, crying furiously and unable to think, her lips brushed my cleavage, continued to my collarbone. One kiss was planted on my chin, and...

Our eyes were locked in an unbreakable line. Her eyelashes were an inch from mine - maybe less. It was happening. She was going to do it. Two currents of hot breath overlapped, becoming warmer between us. The lips were moving...

"_NO!_"

Before I knew it, I was facing the toilet. What did I do? My eyes darted to the side - Harley was standing three feet away, clutching at her towel and staring at me as if I'd hissed at her like a feral cat. In all honesty, I didn't even remember what I had done to get her to step back.

"B-Babs, what- why?"

When I looked again, I saw she was massaging her stomach; I must have pushed there. The most awe-inspiring woman on earth was trying to give herself to me, and I pushed her. There's nothing worse I could've done. I deserved crucifixion. "Harley, I'm... this isn't..."

"But you like it," she protested bleakly, forming her own tears to match mine, now. "I- I can tell you do! Why won'tcha let yourself like it? Do I... am I not good enough?"

"That's not it," I sniffled. "I know, I'm stupid, but... well, I don't know what I expected, but this isn't happening the- the way I- Harley, I wanted to say stuff, I wanted it to be-"

"Wait." Even though I wasn't looking now, I could hear her foot slap on the tile as she took a step forward. "Babsy, what- what're you tryin' to tell me?"

"You know what I'm trying to tell you!" I was breathing so heavily I knew my lungs would collapse any moment; they couldn't take a beating like this. Nobody's could. "And I can't, because I'm- because I'm such a chickenshit! Why would you even _want _to be with somebody like-"

"Whoa, wait, whoa!" she whispered - and I could hear shock in her voice. "No, I- I just thought, maybe once, we could throw out all the rules and have a... but are you- no, no, I'd never figure for that, it'd be too much to- there's not enough hope in the world!"

"Yes, there is." My lip trembled as I turned back, focusing for some reason on her dripping, shoulder-length hair. "I... I've never seen you out of pigtails."

"Yeah?" She let out a blast of laughter. "Well, I never seen ya swim with your clothes on. Somethin' new every day, I guess."

"I love you, too."

The smile slid off her face so fast I could've sworn she'd been shot in the back. Really, her whole reaction was like that: the eyes flying open, her jaw hanging agape, the way her body stiffened and swayed at the same time. Could you have a heart attack from being heart-attacked? Does that make sense?

"Wh..." She stopped there.

"Wow, I... I got it out there," I panted, though relief was far from what I felt at that moment. "I- I can't believe- but I didn't even know I was going t-"

"Huh..."

Big, pearl-sized drops were cascading from the corners of Harley's eyes, even though the rest of her was stock still. As many hours as both of us had spent crying since I first saved her life, I'd yet to see it flow so freely. "Oh... I... oh...!"

"Harley, it's okay," I said hurriedly, even though I didn't know why I was soothing her. Too much too soon. My instincts had been right - it was all a horrible mistake, I shouldn't have come in. "I- you can- do you want me to take it back?"

"_NO!!_" she screamed, throwing herself against me and squeezing so hard I thought I might ooze out of my skin. "No, don't ever, _ever, EVER _take it back - _EVER!_ Okay?! Never, you hear me?! Never..."

"Okay!" I exclaimed, patting her on the back gently. "Whoa, I- I m-mean, Harley, I- oh, Harley..."

"What _took _you so long?!" she wailed into my shoulder, laughing and crying and sobbing so hard I had to fight to keep myself from breaking down into a puddle of miserable happiness. "_FUCK!_ It's like waitin' for the cable guy!"

"I'm sorry, Harley, I- I'm so sorry!" I cried into her hair. "God, I could never ask you to forgive me for putting you on hold, I'm such a- and what was the point? I just ended up here, anyway, and- and w-we could've saved so much _time!_ We could've been together all along, and there'd be-"

"What the hell are you _talkin' _about?!" The knuckles of her little fists were staring to make my back sore, but somehow the pain caused me to feel so free. "My b-brain's been t-turned into oatmeal by this, I- all I can think is that I- I wanna hear you say it again, I wanna know it really happened, that I- I'm not still crazy!"

"Harley..."

Her head raised up, and those radiant blue rings burned as they looked right into me, digging through my layers of resistance and ideology and fear of change and loss of control and all these other neuroses that are so irrelevant and bogus. "I love you, Babs, I love you!"

"I love you, Harley," I whispered, wiping one of her tears away; her head swayed slightly, trying to follow my hand. "And I have - the whole time we've known each other, I think I did. I don't know."

"You did," she confirmed with a nod, smiling blearily. "Me, I know I fell the day I... well, fell."

We both laughed at that. "You can't mean that - way back then, just because I-"

"I do! Geez, you were the first woman I ever saw that presented an image of, 'this is what I wanna be - what I _can _be'! And the more I really learned about you, the person, the m-more I _wanted _to learn, and- and this is a bunch of boring crap that's gettin' in the way of me kissing you, so_mmh!_"

She was so sweet and tangy - exactly like a chocolate-covered strawberry. The parts of me that burned the fiercest wanted me to take her to the floor - make her mine, or let her do it, or whatever. It was as if being connected there, at the anatomical spot that had first exposed her feelings right outside the very mansion where we'd finally affirmed it all, made us part of the same whole - but that we could keep going deeper, merging more and more and becoming more powerful and making our joy increase a thousandfold with every step. Could I handle that? Maybe, maybe not... but I wanted to try.

"_Whoo,_" she gusted, wobbling as she took a step away from me. "Oh... oh, wow, I- I- Babsy..."

"Hah..." I was panting, too, trying not to give in to another snifflefit. "Harley, you're such... that was the... I've been missing out!"

"That was dynamite!" Her hands dropped to her knees as she braced to catch her breath. "You... really know how to plant one on a girl!"

"How _would _I?" I laughed weakly. "That was my maiden voyage with another maiden!"

"Mmmh, if only we could do that every minute of every day... I think I could forget about everything else and call it a wrap."

"You know what else I want?"

"Wh-"

I didn't wait for a real answer; my legs propelled me directly at her, and we went down kind of hard on the floor, bruising mostly my arms and her butt. "_Ow!_" she half-laughed, looking at me in surprise. "What the hell, ya wanna play football?!"

"To hold you," I breathed, pressing my eyes to her shoulder. "I... it's enough if I have you right here, and you don't go anywhere, and we can just... we can just _be._"

Arms were around me. _Her _arms - the arms I wanted there. "I'll be whatever. Anything for my Babs."

"I'm yours?" I asked, pulling back to look at her. Her face was so red; I hadn't really noticed it until now, there was so much to experience! "Me?"

"Duh, stupid! And... and if ya want me, you can have me."

I had to look away to keep from giggling like a child. "That's... oh, wow, we've got a _huge _list of things to get to, how are we going to find enough time?"

"Some villain will have a time-stopping ray," she assured me, stroking her fingers through my hair. "It'll all work out, you'll see."

More things were said, more things were done... a lot more. From here, though, it's too personal to relate - but you can see, can't you? Every moment was like waking up to a sunrise in Spring, or tasting pomegranate for the first time... or watching children play. As Harley would say, we were "two mixed-up, crazy kids who couldn't keep their hands off each other"... and we had our entire lives ahead of us.

On second thought, sunrise and pomegranates scarcely measure up.

END SESSION


	18. Legacy Of Lunacy

AUTHOR NOTE: So yes, the long-awaited culmination of pining and firing pheromones at each other has come to pass! No more nail chewing for you, eh? It's all good and well. I apologise for taking so long to post a new chapter, but I've spent the past few days moving to upstate New York. I do NOT recommend to ANYONE taking a sixteen-hour road trip in one shot in a beat-up 1989 Ford Tempo - especially when you have a job interview the same day you arrive. Anyway, enough grousing from me... there's not much left. Really hope you're all continuing to find it adequate.

* * *

Session Eighteen: Legacy Of Lunacy

That is _not _what I would say! ...but I agree, even though I think I'm being typecast.

That would be a nice way to end the story, I think - and Babs was all about ending it there, too, and I don't blame her! Unfortunately, there's a couple loose ends we forgot to tie up for you, so... the saga continues.

Three weeks have passed. Brucey and Al had been doing a pretty good job about _not _noticing how different we acted around each other. Well, actually, maybe we weren't acting _that _different - it's not like we were mashing lips in public like some curfew-ridden teenagers. Still, all the discomfort and itchiness had vanished, and it must have shown. It was nice - everything was nice. _Everything._

Okay, okay - to address this early on, _yes,_ we did things in the bedroom! Wouldn't you?! Poor li'l old me had been crushing on her for over a _year _- Babs had to resort to beating me off with a broom some nights! So quit thinking your nasty thoughts, because I'm going to leave it at "it was fun" and move along. I might have been a harlequin once, but my life story is _not!_

...maybe an LMN original, though.

One thing Bruce _did _notice was that our in-battle chemistry was twice as cohesive. We moved as if a single, writhing entity of destruction, almost reading each other's thoughts and moves and playing off them. He was impressed, though he would blithely comment, "I think you two are spending too much time together." Personally, I think he had the full scoop and was trying to give us our peace and privacy, but he never said as much.

Right - back to our story. One night, our old pal Two-Face was trying to hijack an automatic arms shipment. This was big time. If he pulled this off, he would be able to pad the weapons cache of every gang in Gotham and beyond, and become filthy stinking rich in the process. Our intrepid trio was perched on a building near the docks, watching for the right boat. Things became increasingly funky from there...

. . ᴥ . .

"That's a lot of muscle."

Barbara reached for Bruce's Bat-noculars, then surveyed the scene for herself. "Damn, you're not kidding - where'd all these goons come from?"

"'Goons 'R' Us'?" I quipped; Babsy's lips pursed. "No? Maybe 'Goons And Noble', or-"

"Enough," Bruce snapped, leaning forward with one foot on the edge of the building and gazing intently at the activity below. Between you and me, I had to check behind me for paparazzi, as he was sort of... posing. "Lark, get down there and recon; I want a workable plan before-"

"Room enough for one more hand?"

Batgirl and I turned around immediately; Bruce only frowned. Nightwing hopped down from the access door, face all grim and serious.

"Howdy," I sighed. "My bestest friend ever. What're you doin' here?"

"Oh, I was so very worried about you, Bat-Cousin," he shot back; the disdain in his voice was cutting. "This arms shipment is massive enough that it would affect my city, too."

"Dick," said Batman.

"Bruce," said Nightwing.

"Yahtzee," I said to no one in particular.

"God, I can't even listen to you guys!" Babs spat at us, one hand at her hip. "We have a job to do, okay? We'll bury a few hatchets later!"

"No, we won't," Dick protested - probably truthfully.

"Maybe somebody oughtta bury a hatchet in you," I grumbled.

"_Stop!_"

"I'm sorry, Babs," I said quickly, rubbing at my eyes under my cowl. "You're right, this is all... yeah, we got a job. How many are down there?"

"Oh, only about _eighty._"

I blinked. "Ah." Then I turned to Nightwing and said cheerily, "Hey, thanks for comin'!"

His eyes narrowed at me. "You're not welcome."

Barbara's fangs were bared, and she was having trouble keeping her voice level. "Dick, if you don't stop-"

"Enough," said Bruce flatly. For some reason, when he said it, we all dropped our respective tough-guy acts and moved to the ledge for a better look. "Something's happening down there."

No kidding. There had to be more like ninety guys on the docks - and who knew how many on the ship? For the first time in my career as a tights-wearing badass of heroism, I was truly nervous about the numbers. My palms began to sweat under my gloves as I watched a light flash out in the distant waters.

"A signal," said Batsy, standing and pulling out his Batrope. "Won't be too long before they dock."

Nightwing smiled grimly. "Let's move in, then."

Four shadowy figures crept between huge crates and piles of fish waste (_yecch!_), hiding behind rusty equipment to more closely investigate the situation. Only a few of the men had weapons drawn; the rest most likely had them concealed, or were there merely as grunt labourers. My breath caught in my throat when I realised they would _all _be armed to the teeth as soon as that boat arrived.

"We're gonna fry," I breathed in Babsy's ear. "There's too many!"

"It'll be fine," she said. "Just don't lose your head. Still... I am glad Dick showed up; their attentions will be divided between more targets."

"I love it when you talk tactics." She turned around and raised a finger to her lips, blushing slightly.

Bruce had already taken out three guards stealthily and dropped their guns into the murky waters. Nightwing was delivering a sharp blow to another's neck as I looked on; no one noticed. After a moment, Babs and I joined in, picking them off from the shadows.

"Hey," said one of the goons. "Where's Monty?"

"Frick if I know," said another. "Schumack, go check it out."

Schumack met the same fate as his fellows; piled in an empty crate the size of a Buick. Eight more men disappeared from their ranks before Nightwing was spotted.

"_IT'S THE BAT!_"

Gunshots rang out everywhere. They had only seen a flash of the blue emblem on his chest, I'm sure, but they were already feeling paranoid due to their numbers dropping without reason. There were still over sixty men left; not a fun number, but doable.

When none of us appeared, they started spreading out to smoke us out; I smashed the first one I saw right in the face with the heel of my boot, breaking his nose. The fight was on, now - Brucey was handling six on one, Nightwing was mobile and impossible to pin down... Babs was flinging Batarangs left and right as if they were going to give her the clap if she kept them. Me, I just made sure my back was to a wall and kept my body fluid.

"Their ship is docking," said Bruce's voice in our ears. "I'm sure we'll meet further resistance."

"How many are still left on land?" said Nightwing.

"Maybe twenty," Babs reported - where was she? "And I think we got most of the ones with guns, but if they get hold of the shipment-"

"Time to gas these schmucks!" I hissed, taking out a few capsules (I finally remembered what pocket they're in!).

"No, Lark," said Batman. "We'll end up breathing it ourselves, even with masks - but if you could find your way onto the boat..."

"Got it, boss!"

Two men were rushing me at once - I leapt into the air, catching the lip of the one-story building as they knocked heads. From there, I ran across several stacks of crates, swung on a crane and vaulted myself into the air...

...and landed on the deck of the 'Magdalena', rolling to avoid killing myself too much. As I stood shakily, ducking behind a barrel, I heard a voice in my ear say, "Wow, not bad."

"Thanks, Richie," I cooed. "Wanna see me hit the uneven bars sometime?"

"W- I wasn't talking to you," he snapped. "Focus!"

"Liar," I muttered, darting forward and opening one of the doors. Again, I withdrew the pellets, and after hearing the sounds of several men shouting things like, "Something's happening on the docks - what's going on?", I tossed three inside, shutting the door softly but tight and pressing my ear to the tiny window.

_BOOMF,_ I heard from inside. Within seconds, everyone was coughing, and then all was quiet.

"Hah!" I crowed. "The easy way is the _only _way!"

"There!"

Oopsie-daisy. A half-dozen guards were coming around the corner; guess not everybody was below deck. I dropped back into a battle stance, but right about the time the first one reached me-

"_Ow!_"

Something stung- somewhere on my calf, I thought. A muscle spasm? I wanted to investigate, but the guards were upon me; I had to defend myself. One went down, and I threw the third into the fourth, knocking them both out. The second guy had tried to circle around behind me, but I cut him off with a roundhouse that knocked the wind out of him. Then, just as the last two produced brass knuckles and a chain...

They were the Joker.

"What?" I gasped, blinking over at them. "No, I... that's not..."

"What's wrong, little girl?" said Joker Number One. "Forget to take yer Flintstones vitamins this mornin'?"

"Mister J?" This had to be Two-Face; only he would know to tell his henchmen to do a horrible thing like that to me, only a supervillain could get to a superhero like that. "Stop _lookin' _like that, it's not fair, you- I'm not yours anymore!"

"What's wrong with her?"

"Who cares? Take her out!"

As both Jokers advanced on me, scorpions climbing out of their hair, a canary the size of a horse flew out of the sky and kicked them over the side of the boat into the churning waters below. Then it swooped down on me.

"_NO!_" I screamed. "What the- what _are _you?!"

"Here!"

Another stinging sensation - this one in the arm. The bird was pecking me to death, I had to break free - but a cold sensation was already spreading through me. When I looked at the wound, I saw it was gushing blood.

"AAAGH!"

"Har- uh, Lark, calm down!" the voice said... and it was Babsy. Babsy was here!

"Oh, Bee-Gee, thank goodness!" I gasped. "There's... there's a giant Tweety, ya have to... to-"

"Calm down," she said again. Why couldn't I see her? "Let the antigen take its course before you try to do anything."

"Anti... what? But the-"

It was gone. All I saw was Babs; she looked annoyed, furious and scared at the same time. "Wh... hey, when did I end up on the ground?"

"Same song, third verse." Yet another syringe was in her hand - the same mocking smile on its label. A second one, devoid of sticker, was in her other hand. "Lucky for you, Batman and I have been carrying the cure in our belts ever since 'Rent'."

"Oh... oh." My head whipped around so fast I think I sprained it. "Wh- _ow!_ Where did he-"

"Don't worry, Harl. This time, I got him."

My eyes widened as I turned back to her, pushing myself to my feet. "You did?"

"With this." Now she was holding up a sort of dart gun. "It carries a mild sedative, it probably made the scumwad a little drowsy... but that's only to disguise its true purpose."

"A tracking device," said Bruce as he and Nightwing landed beside us on the deck. "Small enough to slip beneath the skin undetected; our silent assassin will most likely think the bump is from the dart piercing the skin, and in time, it will work itself deep enough to be invisible."

"So it's still happening," muttered Nightwing, mostly to himself.

"What's that?" I half-laughed. "Couldn't be _concern,_ could it?"

"Just because I wouldn't mind catching the criminal doesn't mean I necessarily want to save you," he retorted.

"Oh, yeah - perish the thought!"

Dick turned to Babs, arms folding over his chest. "Has she been hanging around with Alfred, too? You really did welcome her with open arms."

"Where's Two-Face?" I asked, hoping to prevent any more long, drawn-out arguments. "Trussed up like a game hen?"

"No such luck," said Bruce bitterly. "Orchestrating everything from afar, it would seem. At least we've reduced his ranks."

"Gotham PD should be here in about five minutes," said Babs.

"Right." Nightwing flexed his fingers, taking out a Batrope. "I suppose this is my cue to exit; mission accomplished."

"Fine, do what you do best," snapped Babs. "Run off like a kindergarten baby. What do you need to get back to so urgently?"

"There's plenty of crime left in Blüdhaven to keep me busy for the rest of the night, Barbara. Nothing personal."

Both fists were on her hips. "You still have a lot of apologising to do!"

Nightwing glanced at me, then back at her. "Forget it."

"You _will _apologise to her, or I'll-"

"You'll let him go back to his city," I butted in. "It's no biggie."

"It is to me," she said under her breath. "It is because you are."

We all stood around awkwardly, unsure of what should be said or done next; Babs and I not daring say anything else at all, and Nightwing looking curiously between us, perplexed by our behaviour. Batman, for his part, decided his time was better spent tying up the men in the ship's hold, as the gas had long evaporated. Finally, Nightwing voiced his doozy of an opinion, which was followed by a _lot _of sweating.

"You two going out or something?"

"_No!_" we both blurted out hastily.

"That was convincing," he said with a smirk.

"W-what if we are?" Babs fired at him. "Would _that _be enough to make you stop acting like a... a... well, a _DICK!_"

"Ouch," I hissed. "Low blow."

"For once, I agree with you," said Dick.

"_Urgh!_" she burst out; I did feel bad for saying that. "Two obstinate peas in a pod! Why don't _you two _go out?!"

"_No!_" we barked at her, glaring at each other a half-second later.

"Fine, nevermind," Nightwing spat, walking slowly away from us. "I have more pressing matters than the gossip in the high school cafeteria."

"_Apologise to her!_"

"Forget it!" he reiterated over his shoulder as he disappeared into the night.

"Ugh, what a tool," Babs said.

"Don't worry, it's fine. I'm a big girl. Richie looks at me and he sees the Joker; I brought it on myself, so now I gotta take my lumps. As long as _you _see me as me, life's a bowl of cordial cherries." As we busied ourselves tying up more of Mr Dent's men, another thought came to me. "Hey... why didn't ya tell him? Y'know... about us."

"Oh," she said nervously, a length of rope sliding through her limp hands to the deck. "Well, I... sorry, I don't know, I'm- we're kind of... wait a second! You didn't tell him, either!"

"I know," I said, fidgeting. "But... well, are we ready?"

"Definitely not," she said with a snort. "I mean, from all indications."

I smiled at her, feeling silly for even having brought it up. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Besides... I like you bein' my dirty little secret."

"Stop it," she said in a low voice, flushing - I absolutely _love _it when she does that. "Not in front of the criminals."

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

Within two days of our seafaring skirmish (yet _another _horrible line - thank you, thank you!), Harley and I had pretty much forgotten the third attempted dosing; being that she only had to suffer its effects for a brief moment, it wasn't that hard to do. There were a lot of other things on our minds, like, oh... each other. Love was in the air, and I think it made us a tad dopey, but we were enjoying every minute.

Everything was happening so damn fast, but that was good - nay, excellent. We'd spent so much time dancing around our relationship that we didn't want to waste another millisecond of our new lives together by hesitating. In light of that...

"I told my landlady today," I said to Harley. We were sitting in a local Subway, sipping at the dregs of our drinks - mine was iced tea, hers a Cherry Coke. Harley was chewing the last few potato chips from her single-serving bag when she spoke.

"Told her what?"

"That I'd be vacating at the end of the lease. That's... this month."

She looked up from her straw, blinking. "Oh. Oh! So- so you _do _want to?"

"Of course," I said quietly. "It's just that I'm tied to the lease, and I wouldn't get my deposit back if-"

"Babsy!" My hands were suddenly clasped between hers. She was making too big a fuss over this; I felt like the entire restaurant was staring at me. "We're... you and me, livin' in my place?"

"Can I start calling it 'our place' when I move in?"

"Yeah! Yeah, of course, I- you can start _now!_" Her cheeks were bunching up the way they always did when she was really overjoyed about something; I laughed to see it over this. "Oh, I gotta admit, I've been missin' that... knowing we shared the same four walls."

"We can share the same bed, now, too," I went on. "And- well, I know we have been, but- but now it'll be for real, and permanent. No more, 'Oh, I know I'll be staying over at Harley's tonight, so I'll need to bring spare shorts and a toothbr-'"

Her arms were around my neck, lips kissing me just below my ear. She knows that drives me bonkers. Why does she insist on doing it anytime other than when we're alone if she knows that? Mean, awful girl. "I can't wait. Wanna go back there now?"

"N-no," I tittered, twitching away from her. "Th-that is, I mean, I can't. Back to work by one."

"Me, too," she said with a shrug, sitting back. "But the store windows can dress themselves for a day, I think."

My eyebrows drew together reproachfully. "Harley! As long as it took you to find a decent-paying job, now you-"

"Okay, okay, geesh!" Even as she relented, I could feel something soft and smooth moving up the inside of my calf. "But when I _do _get you alone..."

You would not believe the things that girl can accomplish with her feet - it's uncanny. Furiously, I pretended to be very interested in finishing off my drink - except that only made a loud slurping noise, thus drawing far more attention to my reddening self. Harley bit her lip, trying not to laugh out loud at me.

. . ᴥ . .

Maybe pleasant slice-of-life moments like that were the reason I was confused when Bruce called both Harley and I into the Batcave for "an important matter". Neither of us knew what it was going to be, so we made sure we showed up together; at least we could present a united front if one or both of us were in trouble.

"Have a seat," Bruce said. There were huge circles under his eyes, and I could tell from years of experience that he'd been awake and busy for over twenty-four hours; he gets this sort of permanent crease in the middle of his forehead. He was also wearing most of his Bat-suit, as if he'd forgotten he had it on.

"What's up, chief?" asked Harley tentatively. "I mean... should we be puttin' on the capes and tights right about now?"

"No need."

Something was really wrong. I hadn't seen him like this since Tim had killed the Joker... and this seemed worse, if that was possible. Catching Harley's eye for a moment and seeing my worry reflected there, I took a step forward. "Bruce... are you okay?"

"No."

"C'mon," Harley breathed, frightened by this attitude. She didn't contend with him during that period, or when Jason Todd was taken from us, and therefore she'd never seen a forlorn Batman like I have. "Wh-what's goin' on?"

"I'm waiting for one final guest."

"Wait no longer," said Nightwing as he descended the steps. To save time, he flipped over the last dozen to land near us.

"Ohhh, I really don't like the direction this is going," I groaned.

"Glad to see you, too," he grunted. Sparing Harley and myself only the briefest of glances, he turned to Bruce and said, "I see this isn't exactly a mission, because I'm the only one in full dress. Bruce, what gives?"

"Distressing doesn't begin to cover this," he told us, heaving a deep sigh and running a hand through his hair before continuing. "The good news is, I tracked the mysterious Smilex-distributor down."

"Good!" I gusted, glancing over at Harley; her look of relief mirrored mine. "Who was it?"

"That's the bad news: I didn't have to look very far." With that, he pressed a button on the lip of the table, and a wall that normally housed spare costumes slid open... except there were no costumes inside.

"_TIM!_" I shouted; both Harley and Dick gasped. "Bruce, what- what did you _do _to him?!"

"Chloroform." Every word was causing him physical pain. "A small dose. Everyone, I... I apologise, I should have drawn this conclusion long ago. I suppose I didn't _want _to see it."

Tim was bound snugly to a chair behind the sliding wall, head lolling to one side. True to his word, I did not see a single gash or bruise anywhere; he was breathing evenly, merely asleep, so Bruce had met no struggle. With a pang, I noticed he was wearing a John Mayer t-shirt; I didn't even know we were both fans.

"I don't understand," Dick was saying, head slowly shaking from side to side. "Tim's not the kind of- no, you have to be wrong about this, you made a mistake."

"Afraid not." Then he opened a toolbox that had been sitting on the table next to him the entire time, revealing... "At least fourteen more doses of the revamped Smilex that the Joker had initially used on him. I found this-" He held up a sheet of paper "-in the bottom: a photocopy of the formula. I can only guess he 'borrowed' it the day he came down into the Cave and found out Harley had joined the Gotham Knights. God knows there was plenty of Scarecrow's 'anxiety drug' spread around Gotham and at the Water Works; he only needed trail the rest of us to get his hands on a sample."

"B-but-" There were droplets forming in the corners of Harley's eyes. "But no, Timmy wouldn't- I- I can't believe he'd do it, somebody musta planted-"

"His prints are all over," he went on sadly. "Especially the bottles of chemicals he used to concoct more of the drug. I assume he wiped the syringes down before using them, to cover his tracks."

"No!" Dick growled. "How do we know somebody wasn't talking him into this? Maybe they forced him to make the Smilex, then took it themselves and tried to-"

"The tracking device." The Batman's walk to Tim's side was a slow death march. Once he got there, he spun the chair around to reveal what looked like a mosquito bite on the back of his neck, slightly under one of his moles. "Exactly where Barbara planted it."

All of us were stunned into silence by now. I wanted to stick up for him, blame Bruce like Dick had a moment ago, but there was too much evidence. Either Batman had lost his sanity - and I knew he never would, it would have happened decades ago if it were going to - or it was all true. But I had to say something.

"What'll we do?"

"I haven't the faintest clue," he sighed, still staring down at his former ward. "Give him a chance to explain himself, first of all."

"_What?!_" Harley put her hand on my arm, but I shoved it away. "No, Bruce, that's- he can't _explain away _what he did! No, what we n-need to be figuring out is how to make him stop it!"

"Barbara," Dick whispered, "we have to at least find out why he's doing it before we can get him to stop, right?"

I didn't respond. They were both right; I'd flown off the handle for no reason. Harley's hand appeared on my forearm again, and this time I let it stay there.

"Are we ready for this... intervention?" Bruce asked, producing a phial from his belt. When we all nodded (after taking several deep breaths), he held it under Tim's nose. Within seconds, the boy was coughing, and not long after his eyes opened.

"You going to be okay?" I mouthed at Harley. She nodded. It wasn't very convincing.

"Wh... huh?" Tim said, blinking around dazedly. "What's... what am I doing here? Hey - why is everybody here?"

"Tim, I want you to be honest with us." Bruce leaned forward; now, I could only see one of Tim's eyes from my vantage point. "Did you steal the Smilex formula from the Batcave?"

"Did I wha... no!" That single eye was wide and fearful. "Batman, no, I- why would I?!"

"Then how did it end up in your room?" All the sympathetic brokenness from a moment ago was gone; now Bruce had gone back to cold-blooded judge, jury and executioner of the night. Until he got to the root of things, Tim was just another criminal. "Along with enough Smilex to endanger Harley's sanity once a month for the rest of this _and _next year?"

"H-how should I know?!" he shouted, glancing over Bruce's shoulder at the rest of us. I'm sure I looked worried and hurt. Nightwing's face betrayed no emotion, but that was due to years of conditioning. Harley, however, was staring blankly at the floor; wasn't she upset? "What are you talking about?! I didn't have anything like-"

A needle was in Bruce's hands. "Your prints are on it."

"But... but I never touched it! When would I have? I can't- I'm not even _good _at chemistry!"

"Young man, I have tried to be patient. We have solid, undeniable evidence that you've been trying to send The Lark back into Arkham; everything in your room... the tracking device we planted on you at the pier. Barbara shot you as you fled the 'Magdalena' after dosing Harley again. It's still _there,_ Tim. Right below your mole."

"Below my- wait..." Tim looked up at us, finally looking more angry than scared. "That's a _tracking device?!_ I thought it was a zit!"

"In a few days, you wouldn't even be able to see it anymore."

"Wait," Harley breathed; I don't think anyone else heard her.

"Tim, why would you do this?" Bruce was asking. "What could you possibly gain from crippling a Gotham Knight?"

"Oh, yeah, some Knight," Tim spat, glaring at her. "You're still kicking me around, even trying to tell me I'm hurting people, when that, that- _looney _steps right into my place! If she's a Knight, I guess I was just a pawn!"

"Don't try my patience, Drake," Bruce said in his most sinister tone. "Revenge - is that the game? You're bitter because I stripped you of the Robin mantle?"

"He wouldn't be alone," said Dick.

"See?!" Tim shouted. "Nightwing gets it - why don't you?"

Dick suddenly looked distressed. "Now, hold on, Tim - I didn't say what you're doing is _right._ Bruce can be a little... controlling, yeah, but that doesn't give you free license to go out and-"

"_Fine!_" Bruce took a step back as Tim struggled against his bonds, tears rolling past his clenched teeth. "You all think you've got this case all solved, don't you? Blame Tim, _he's _been tortured, _he's _been kicked off the team - let's just dump this on him, too! Who gives a rip if _he's _more miserable?! He's already miserable all the time!"

"Tim, this isn't about-"

"The hell it isn't! _You _try going back to a normal life after Two-Face _kills your parents!_"

That shut us up for a moment as we reflected on what and who had been taken from us - Bruce most of all, I'm sure. Finally, Bruce said, "The body count doesn't justify everything, Tim. It's not a blanket excuse. To use him that way would defile your father's memory."

"I'm not using it as an excuse, because I _didn't do it!_ I didn't-"

"_SHADDUP, you freakin' BRAT!_"

Bruce stepped back as Harley stormed past him and slapped Tim hard across the face; then, both he and Dick were grasping one of her arms, restraining her from doing it again.

"_Control yourself,_" said Bruce - a strong tone, but not a shout.

"What, you can't handle it?!" she shouted down at him; I rushed to their sides, hoping to be of some help at one point or another, even though by now I'd completely lost all hope of this ending well. "I switch sides, become a caped crusader, and it puts a knot in yer shorts, is that it?! Well, guess what? The world keeps turning, kiddo - and it doesn't stop for nobody!"

"Shut up," he growled, staring straight into her face. "You should've died in Arkham, where you belong - you're crazy!"

"Oh, ya wanna talk about when I was crazy? Let's take a trip in the Wayback to when I was at the beck and call of old Mister J - what an _idiot!_ He never could figure out who you guys were until he pumped your gooey little brains, and you were pretty much his whole reason for living! He did the same thing to me that he did to you - _the same thing!_ How are you gonna sit there, tryin' ta tell me _I'm _the only one who's crazy?!"

"Shut _up!_ Shut up before I-"

"_Years _of my life, flushed down the toilet for some green-haired dipwad who liked squirting flowers! _Nobody thinks they're funny!_"

"_Funnier than YOU, you mangy, useless, spineless, humourless TWIT!_"

Everyone was looking at Tim, now; Batman and Nightwing were too distracted to hold onto Harley properly, and she began rubbing her now-sore biceps. The boy in the chair was twitching, foaming at the mouth - and something very odd, and very unsettling, was happening to his features. Bruce was the first of us to grasp exactly what he was seeing - though the distraught, outraged expression on his face said he was still struggling to wrap his mind around it.

"_JOKER!_"

END SESSION


	19. Resolution And Reflection

NOTE: Sorry it took so long to post this chapter, but there's been a new dayjob to contend with, settling in, etc. However, I did get to watch "Shadow Of The Bat" parts 1 & 2 over the past week, and it made me smile :D

And now, we approach the finalé...

* * *

Session Nineteen: Resolution And Reflection

"What the..." Dick began.

"To think I wasted all those years, trying to mold you into a proper sidekick!" Tim was snarling through ruby-red lips, eyes popping. "The only thing you _ever _got right in our entire career together was your costume! Well, I hear these days that red and black are _still _your colours, aren't they?!"

"I can't _believe _I let you torture me into insanity!" Harley screamed, just barely restraining herself from flying at the boy. "You're too _weak _for anybody to-"

He threw his head back and laughed - and when it dropped down again, emerald hair fell in Tim's eyes. "Oh, _I'm _the weak one?! Oddly enough, I don't particularly recall _you _turning _me _into _your _slave, but perhaps I simply need some extensive regression therapy, Dr Quinzel!"

"My God," I breathed, aghast. Had we _all _been dosed with Smilex? "This-"

"That only works if there's a _mind _to begin with! Christ, I am _so _glad I don't work for you anymore!"

"Oh, I'm painfully aware of _that_, you _traitor!_ Everything we worked for, the riches and the heirlooms, you handed over to the police, done up in a pretty bow like a box of Godiva chocolates - and, as if that weren't a big enough slap in the face, you go so far as to play dress-up with Batsypants over there! _Ooh,_ that ruffled my feathers! Where's your sense of pride?!"

"It was you," she breathed, eyes somehow growing wider than before. "_You _were the one plantin' all that stolen merch on me, tryin' to make me look bad - I almost broke my neck fallin' in a ditch because of that!"

"Wasn't much of a challenge," he growled, grinning madly. "Tiny Tim already resents you something fierce - all it took was a nudge or two from my handy-dandy mind-control device to force him into doing my bidding! Simplicity itself!"

"You j- just _used _him to get back at me! That's so, so- _petty!_ Don't you got nothin' better to do?!"

A superior sneer interrupted his previous manic demeanor. "Well, I am a wee bit _dead,_ don't you know! I have to find _some _activity to pass the lonely nights - and seeking vengeance against my very own Benedict Har-nold by commandeering Timbo's body definitely sounded like more laughs than catching up on 'Arrested Development' reruns!"

_"GO TO HELL, you greasy HACK!"_

_"Not unless YOU'RE coming along for the ride, SWEETUMS!"_

_"I HATE YOU! I've ALWAYS hated you - AND I ALWAYS WILL!"_

_"Yeah, sister, well, THE FEELING IS MUTU-_ ooh..."

My hand throbbed as I stepped back from Tim's now-limp body. "I... I'm sorry," I panted, shaking like I'd been using a jackhammer for several hours. "I c-couldn't listen to any more of that."

"_BASTARD!_" Harley shouted, sinking to the floor. She trembled there for a moment, straddling rage and melancholy, before she choked out, "You... you bastard... why can't you leave me alone?!"

The three of us who had no history of mental illness were left wholly stunned, unable to comprehend what was going on. Tim _was _the Joker? How was it possible? Unsure of what else to do, I checked Tim's pulse; still alive. My blow was intended to be non-lethal and I had ample practice, but if I had slipped, if he had moved unexpectedly...

Then, I crouched over Harley, pulling her into a warm, clinging hug. "Shh," I said. "Come on..."

"There's a chip!" she sobbed into my shoulder. "It's not a m-mole, it's- you have ta short it out. A hundred Volts or so w-will do it."

"You knew about this?" Bruce demanded, picking her up roughly by the arm. "Why didn't you say anything before?!"

"Brucey..." Streaks of mascara made her look so pitiful; I couldn't bear to watch her like that, so I turned away, biting my fingers. "I... I'm so sorry, I f-forgot."

"Excuse me?"

"Honest!" she squeaked when he shook her slightly. "I... I really did. Mister J, he- there was so many things, day in, day out, and- how was I supposed ta remember every frickin' experiment?! I j-just wanted him to hurry up and- and finish, so we could b-be-"

"Fine, fine," he spat, letting her drop to the floor again. "Rgh... I sometimes wonder how I let you two talk me into granting her Gotham Knighthood."

"So it _wasn't _your idea," Dick murmured, eyes not having moved from Tim's slowly-pinkening lips and now-black hair. "Hmm... come to think of it, I don't remember you ever taking in a ward voluntarily..."

"Bruce, don't," I whispered, rubbing Harley's shoulder gently. He turned away in frustration. "She's the only one who's been suffering because of this. Let it lie."

"What would Tim have done years from now?" Bruce turned the chair around to examine the "mole", shaking his head. "That's exactly what we needed; a Joker The Second coming back to haunt us."

"Th-then be glad he despises me enough to come outta retirement early," Harley blubbered.

The next hour mostly consisted of Bruce finding a stray contraption in a drawer, adjusting it to the lowest setting and zapping the microchip on Tim's neck. It dropped onto the table, scarcely making a sound; Bruce placed it carefully in a Petri dish and set it aside for the moment. Then, Alfred brought us all hot tea and inquired as to Tim's condition, which seemed to be the cue for everyone else to shift uncomfortably and pretend to be interested in the darkest corners of the Cave.

"Harley," Nightwing began at one point much later. "I..."

The two of us had been double-checking the Batmobile's systems, hoping to busy our hands and minds. She was in the passenger seat, fiddling with a knob or two. "Huh?"

"I've sort of been treating you like dirt," he said quietly, as if worried anyone else would hear him. "I'd like to apologise for that."

"Whoa, wait," I said - I couldn't help myself. "Richard, are we hearing you right? Can this possibly be the great and powerful Nightwing admitting he was - dare I say-"

"Shut up, Barbara," he snapped. "It's galling enough listening to myself apologise to Harley Quinn and _mean it _without you giving me grief."

"You don't really need to," Harley said modestly, staring at her hands in her lap. "Pretty much everything you said was true, I figure."

"That doesn't mean I shouldn't admit when I'm wrong." I thought the way he was glaring at me was funny, actually. "The sparring session, and your work at the Gotham Pier... Joker's ex or not, you're- you're a- you're a capable heroine, and I'm sorry I gave you such a hard time. There."

Harley was vibrating with gratitude. Dick was working the nonchalance. I was trying my best not to guffaw at his tough-guy act, but I managed it; Harley needed this after what she had undergone. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Yeah, well... everybody deserves a second chance, I guess."

"That's what I told Tim," Bruce said as he joined us, wiping his hands on a rag. "Perhaps if I'd given _him _one, the Joker's digitized personality might not have come out so easily."

"Or he might have had yet more opportunities to Smile-ify Harley," I said with a hopeless shrug. "If we play the 'what if' game long enough, we'll just get more confused and depressed than usual."

"Maybe we should let 'im back on the team," Harley whispered, mouth slanting in deep thought. "He's gotta be just as full of vim and vigor as he was before - and he's havin' a really, _really _hard time letting go o' the gig."

"No," said Bruce firmly. "He's too young. All of you were."

"Too late, now," said Dick, frowning at the floor.

"You didn't force me to join up," I snapped at him. "I _chose _it. Harley, too - and Tim. And if you bring up Jason one more time, I'm gonna slap you."

"Perhaps I keep bringing him up because the truth is always a convincing argument." As he leaned over the side of the car to stare into my eyes, I'd never seen Bruce look so... old, so haggard. "This is not the Army. We're not supposed to be taking in boys and making them into men. It was a mistake - _my _mistake - to ever put anyone who isn't even old enough to vote for our nation's President in a position where they may have to make life-and-death decisions - especially when it's a daily routine."

"Then don't do it again," said Dick, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against the fender. "But Tim is already a part of this. To deny him the right to fight for what he believes in... c'mon, you wouldn't let somebody do that to you, either, no matter how old you were."

Batman shook his head slightly. "And finding out that a teenage boy has been channeling my arch-nemesis for almost a year isn't enough to convince you that it's inhumane to let him keep stepping into the line of fire?"

"So what now, then?" Dick retorted. "Let him get back to being a happy-go-lucky kid? No chance of that, not after everything he's been through."

"None of us ever got a true chance to be children," I breathed sadly. "We've all seen too much."

As I looked between my friends, my compatriots, I experienced one of those rare moments that sort of set a precedent for your life - that define where you've come from and cast a light on where you're going. I didn't see my boring, bookwormy self, my calculating boss, my ex-lover, my new lover, and a boy unconscious on a table; instead, I saw five human beings who had been denied a casual, safe lifestyle, who had known horrors half of the world would barely have to think about, let alone experience firsthand. The Batcave wasn't just a base of operations. It was humanity's orphanage.

"W-well, I got to be a kid," said Harley with a half-smile. "All the way through college! Of course, that was followed by years of intense madness and bedlam, and then I almost died a couple times..."

I grimaced. "Don't remind me."

"A-and so what if my parents didn't die a gruesome death? It'll be a blue moon before they speak to me again. But I wouldn't wanna move back home anyhow - I got a good thing goin' here, I think."

"Not helping your case," said Nightwing with a frown.

"Aw, c'mon, guys," she said, drooping. "All I'm tryin' to say is, that's not all we are. That's _why _we got these Batropes and stretchy leggings - 'cos we're _more _than grief and misery. For whatever reason, the Man Upstairs gave us the brass balls to take a beating and ask for more, so the rest of those lucky sunsabitches can actually _enjoy _their lives. Sucks to be us, but... but they _need _us, right?"

"Hmm," said Bruce, staring at her with something akin to genuine respect. "You may lack the subtlety of Marvell, but you have basically managed to sum up my Bushido code."

While Harley was struggling to come up with a reply to Batman's glowing praise (for Batman, at least), we were all distracted by Tim sitting up and groaning.

"Tim?" Dick asked, taking the lead as Harley and I extracted ourselves from the car and followed. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Wha... hey, stay back!" he snapped, scooting backward. "I don't... I didn't make any Smilex, okay?!"

"Relax," said Bruce.

"Wait..." First, Tim glanced at Harley, then at Bruce. "It wasn't a... dream, was it? I mean, it was really weird, but you guys- you're all wearing the same clothes."

Bruce took the next five or so minutes to explain the Joker's final insidious scheme, prompting many emotional outbursts and some fist-pounding. It was all the rest of us could do to keep blank faces and try not to look as uncomfortable as we felt. Finally, when all was said and done, he hopped down from the table and stared evenly at Harley.

"What?" she said meekly.

"Guess I've been throwing needles at you lately. Sorry about that."

A shrug. "No problem."

"But don't think this means I'm thrilled with you being The Lark," he said quickly, scowling at her. "It's never gonna make sense to me."

"I can live with that if you can, bucko," she said with a smile.

After a long pause, Tim extended his hand, which Harley took. They shook for almost two seconds before Tim broke it off and turned back to Bruce. "And I still want back on the team. Just wanted to drop that in the suggestion box."

"Noted," he sighed, "but I've already decid-"

"Alfred, what do _you _think?" Tim demanded suddenly.

"Hmm?" the butler said, blinking. He'd been crossing from the stairs to the closet where Bruce had imprisoned Tim, apparently with intent to restore it to being a closet. A strained sort of smile flashed across his features. "Ah, Master Tim, perhaps it's not a manservant's place to-"

"Out with it, Alfred," Bruce said flatly.

"Very well, sir." He glanced briefly at where Tim was standing, arms folded, before turning back to his employer. "Master Tim can most certainly handle himself in all manner of martial arts, is rather a cunning and gifted lad, and also has dealt with the emotional peaks and valleys that come with the, er, 'business' with a remarkable resilience. If he himself does not see the unfortunate tortures and experiments imposed on him as a reason to step down as Robin, then, if I may be so bold... why should you?"

There wasn't much any of us could say to that.

. . ᴥ . .

"_Whoof!_ What's this couch made of, lead?!"

"Suck it up, men," I commanded, fists on hips. "We have to complete our mission by nineteen-hundred hours, and I won't have any slacking off!"

"You're gonna talk to your father that way?" said Dick with some effort.

"I like him," my father half-chuckled, half-grunted. Beads of sweat were running down his face and into his moustache. "Remind me again why you didn't hang onto this one?"

"Hey, it's my turn to be in charge for once - why are you trying to take this away from me?"

Harley shook her head, watching as the two men maneuvered my sofa-sleeper toward the front door of my apartment. A clinking glass of ice water hovered near a coy smile. "Manliness at work, mmm."

Dick stopped to glare daggers at her. "No ogling."

"Double for me," said Daddy, whose strain was significantly more pronounced; Dick was used to an intense training regimen, but Daddy mostly had a desk job. "Now, can we get this thing out of here so I can pop an aspirin? This old back is killing me..."

When they had disappeared through the door, Harley turned to me, and for some reason she looked worried. "What's up?" I asked as I uncapped my Sharpie to label another cardboard box.

"They don't know why we're movin' in together."

"Nope," I sighed, frowning myself. "What's in this one, dishes?"

"Towels."

"Right."

"Shouldn't we tell 'em? I mean... yer pops, at least, he oughtta know, maybe."

"But what will they say?" I said softly, capping the marker and tapping my chin with the end. "I... I'm worried it'll change things, that- that they won't get over it, and it'll strain our friendships, and we-"

"You don't think Jimmy Gee would disown you, do ya?"

The disappointed look on her face was almost enough to make me leap into the hall and proclaim our undying love to the heavens and all below. "Of course not, don't be an airhead. It's... I keep seeing these shocked, somewhat-disgusted looks on their faces, and I d-don't want to see my father, or Dick, or-" I took a deep breath as I adjusted my bandana so it held the hair out of my eyes more firmly. "We're family, all of us, and I don't want my family looking at me like I'm a different person."

"You ain't, though!" she hissed, glancing at the open door again. "I mean, maybe your coworkers or the neighbours would be all antsy and grossed out, but- we're talkin' about _Batman!_ And yer dad, he's the Commish - he's seen more than enough in his lifetime that this oughtta be as shocking as a plate of celery!"

My lips shifted to one side as I stacked the labelled box atop three others, tucking Woobie more securely inside the one beneath it as I did so. "You're probably right, Harley. But... well, I'm scared."

"Yeah..." Another fleeting check on the door later, she quickly crossed the sparse living room and pecked me on the cheek. Maybe I'm overly sappy, but even without the added chance of being caught, I knew my pulse would jump regardless. "Guess I am, too, a little. Sorry."

"What's this?"

Harley's gaze joined mine in wondering at a single shopping bag from the mall, lying in the spot the couch had previously called home; I didn't recognise the name of the store. "Hmm, I don't really... _OH!_"

"What?" I said, my hand inches from the handles. "What's wrong?"

"N-no, ya- no, don't open that, it'd be weird and- Babs, can I have that?!"

I was astonished to see her face was brick red, even though two seconds ago she had risked kissing me in front of my father and scarcely batted an eye. "Harley, wh... what is going on?"

"It's nothin'," she half-laughed, stepping forward hesitantly. "C-can I have it?"

Our eyes locked in a struggle of wills; I needed to know what was making my girlfriend skittish, and she had something to hide at all costs. My hand closed on the bag.

"Babs!"

"Okay, fine!" I flung the bag at her and she caught it deftly. "But is this how you want to start our lives together? Cryptic packages lurking under the couch?"

"No," she said, pouting as she peered inside to make sure the mystery object was actually there. "Just... you won't like it."

Casting yet another sidelong glance at our open door, I stood and pulled Harley into a deep, heat-provoking kiss. As I felt her move through the phases of jumping, tensing, then melting like an ice cube on a grill, I lost myself in the feel of her despite the point I was trying to prove. Once I released her, struggling to remain standing in a spinning room, I had to regroup and remember why I had done it to begin with.

"Babsy, I, uh... _phew!_ Damn, you really wanna see it, huh?"

_That's _what it was - the bag. Right. "You have to know by now there's no skeleton in your closet that'd scare me off. We're solid as bedrock."

Her hand ran past her temple and through a stray strand of blonde hair, then she half-sighed, half-panted, pouting slightly. "Yes, Mommy."

"Cut that out!" I hissed; for some reason, I continued to feel incredibly strange when she called me that. "I'm only- what I mean is, if you don't want to show me, it's okay, but... I swear I won't dump you on the spot."

"Yeah, you will," she whispered - as she thrust a hand into the bag, withdrew what looked like a picture frame and dangled it in front of me as if it were radioactive and she was hoping I knew where we could safely dispose of it. "But... be gentle?"

"Oh..."

It was not a picture or painting of any kind. Neslted behind the pane of glass was a battered scrap of white cloth, frilly and stained with blood. Behind it was a simple wickerwork backing.

"You hate it. You hate the crap outta it, I knew ya would - or I figured it out later, I mean. Seemed like a good idea once up on a time, though."

"This... no way, that's impossible." Once or twice, my eyes moved between it and her downcast features. "Harley, is- is this part of your old costume? But where the hell did you find-"

"Let's burn it!"

I blinked - she suddenly looked excited. "Sorry, do _what?_"

"Yeah! We can bury the past and enjoy some random destruction all at the same time! C'mon, I'll grab the matches and you-"

"No, Harley, wait." I scrutinised the tattered ruff beneath the glass for a moment; little more than half remained. It was stretched and torn where my fingers had been clutching it, watching it give and willing it not to... "I- why did you make this? What's the idea behind it?"

Now she was back to acting shy; I could just scarcely hear her utter, "'s dumb."

"Let me make that judgment for myself. Spill."

"To remind us," she said softly. "Or you - or somethin'. I dunno, it's crap, I'm sorry."

"Remind me of what? How I almost let you die? Harley, I don't want to th-"

"_Shut up!_" she spat, hands balling into fists. "How'm I ever gonna convince you that I owe you my life? After years and years of exploding chickens and thousand-Volt joy buzzers, all the mayhem and bitterness and feuding, I was danglin' on the end of a string, about to move on to the big top in the sky, and you... you actually found some pity for a psycho dingbat like me, even though I probably woulda tried to kill you again when ya pulled me to safety! Christ, even if I _had _died, you still deserve a medal of honour just for giving a shit!"

"You're another human being, Harley!" I shouted, boiling in a stew of my own guilt - I didn't deserve anything she was saying. "It's not a matter of who you are, or which side, I- there was no way I could have stood back and let you die!"

She laughed wetly, swiping at her eyes. "And that's why I owe you - why I love you. Not everybody'd see it that way. Bee Gee got scruples."

I wasn't going to win this. It was obvious from the word "go", and it took me a long time to accept this fact, but the one thing I'd repeatedly fail to change her mind on was her determination to be indebted to me for nearly causing her death. "I didn't want you to fall, b-but... but you fell anyway. I couldn't stop it."

"People ain't perfect. But you tried. And... and I made that hideous tchotchke to commemorate it, but that was a half-assed thought I never shoulda-"

"It's beautiful."

Hesitation; the room was quiet for a moment. "You ain't gotta use the lie you sell your grandma on Christmas when she gives you pink bunny pyjamas, Babs. I'm okay, it was last year I got that crap made, so it's not like-"

"Really?" I whispered, eyes welling with tears. "L-last year? This has been here for-"

"I sh-shoved it under the couch when I r-realised you'd think it was gauche, and- well, bein' the resident bimbette of Gotham, I clean forgot it was there."

"Harley, I love you!"

A corner of the picture frame bounced off her ample behind as I threw my arms around her neck, squeezing hard. "Wh-what? What for? It sucks."

"It does _not _suck!" I sobbed, grinning stupidly through the tears. "It is _extremely _un-suck!"

"Un-suck ain't a word," she sniffled, hands clutching at my shoulders from underneath.

"Neither is 'ain't', Miss Grammar Rock!"

We both half-giggled, half-blubbered; it became a conflated din of emotion that was probably a little disgusting to anyone else, but music to me. Though I had told her time and time again that I hated knowing she felt indebted to me, this remained the best gift anyone had ever bought or made for me. After all, for better or for worse, our entire relationship from start to finish began with the contents of that frame. The notion that she had scoured the city in search of it spoke volumes, and tugged on my heartstrings with such force I felt I would break. Unfortunately, there also weren't accurate words to tell her this, so I settled for, "Thank you, Harley-Que."

"Love you, too," was all she could manage. Apparently, I wasn't the only one at a loss.

"_Ahem!_"

We broke apart and turned to find Dick and my father perched awkwardly in the doorway; Daddy was staring at us in some alarm, arms folded against his chest, while Dick was leaning against the jamb with his hands in his pockets, pretending not to notice the mushfest.

"You two need a few more minutes?" Daddy asked.

"N-no, thanks," I laughobbed (or whatever). "Just... girl stuff. We're good."

"Well, okay. Let's get going, we lose our rental deposit if we get the truck back after seven."

"Ya sure, Babsy?" Harley mouthed, barely loud enough for me alone to catch. "Are we good?"

As Daddy and Nightwing picked up a few more boxes to cart out, backs turned, I delivered a swift peck to her rosy cheek. "Better than."

END SESSION


	20. Epilogue

AFTERWORD:

ANNND this is it! The final curtain! Wow, I can hardly believe I started writing this in the midwest and am now finishing it in the Empire State. By the by, we've got ourselves a pet! A Cherry Barb in her own little aquarium... and since it's red and black, we named it Harley (the irony was irresistible). But I'm running away from relevance.

How did you all like my attempt to pay homage to the greatest American animated series of all time? Perhaps I haven't conjured into life a possible script for Batman Begins 3, but I did my best. As I'm used to it from my Potterfic, I expect at least one person may ask for a sequel, but... the likelihood is low. This story is the longest I've ever completed, and I think it's had a goodly run. Why deface it by beating a dead horse?

Gratitude. None of this would have come to pass without Bruce Timm and Paul Dini, of course, for both redefining the mythos and creating the best new Batverse character in decades. A debt of gratitude also to my friends Brandi-wine, WhiteMatt and Ruth/Kestrel for feedback/support, and to my beloved C-Thunder for eternal support. A big, BIG thanks to Gmail, for automatically saving sent messages and having a ridiculous amount of storage space - this would never have been completed if not for the text file lurking in an old attachment. And, of course, thanks to Geojas378, HoosierSerenity, HarleyFan94, Akitsuki, Spikesagitta, harleyQdoll, Atlan, alocin and TannimU for their kind words, and to all the other silent but dedicated readers.

Rather than leave you with my OoC ramblings, what follows is a brief epilogue, which has been in existence since halfway through the main story (just in case you thought it was something I slapped together as an excuse to post this lengthy Oscar-esque speech). I will only say that this is the one time I broke my POV rule for this fic, but I felt it justified in this instance. I hope you enjoy it at least as much as you have the rest of Larkie-poo.

Until I write again,  
_Jessica X_

* * *

EPILOGUE  
. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

It was always so cold in my room these days. Why wouldn't Mom and Dad turn up the thermostat? It was October, for Pete's sake - time to realise Summer was over. But they were stubborn - it usually took until Thanksgiving to make them give up the ghost and dust off our furnace. Meanwhile, I was playing Freeze-Out Solitaire.

The covers rustled as I rolled over to face the window. So dark... the moon was hidden by clouds. Cold and dark and lonely. I always felt that way in my room now, but it would help if they would turn the heat up; I could fall asleep faster. Then again, that would mean starting the nightmares sooner...

Time to think about something else. What were we doing in school tomorrow? Dissecting worms? I hate that stuff. They stink, and they're slimy, and Gregory Stubblefield always grabs a big handful and tries to make one of the girls-

What was that?

Blinking in the dark, I quietly slid out of bed and padded over to the window. Something was out there. My chest felt tight - it couldn't happen again. Not twice in the same year, not from inside my own house! Was there any other way out of here? Just my door and the window, and if they were at the window... but were they?

This had happened to me a million times. I always woke up, always thought I saw something... it was usually an owl or whatever. But when I turned to get back into my warm, safe bed, I saw a shadow pass over the floor. Without thinking, I ran to the window, unlocked it and pushed it open.

"_Aaah!_"

Oh my God. Batgirl was out there. Batgirl - she was here, on my block again! I could see her across the street, crouched on top of old Mr Grimes's roof. Somebody else was with her, too, but not Batman - they were too short. Were they holding hands? As I sat there watching, both of them waved with the hands that weren't clasped together. I waved back - it was a reflex. What were they doing here, was I in trouble? What should I do, say something?

"Hey - hey, Batgirl!"

It looked like they were about to leap off the roof in the other direction, but it was just Batgirl who did; her friend swung on a rope (they really do that stuff!) and landed right on my windowsill. A genuine butt-kicking vigilante girl was hanging onto the side of my house - I almost fell on my ass!

"_Whoa!_ Wh-who are you?"

She grinned down at me, and I couldn't believe how big her smile could get. Her hood had red stripes going back from the eyeholes, and two honey-coloured pigtails bounced behind her head. "Don'tcha recognise me, McIntosh?" she laughed, and her voice sounded familiar.

"Wait a minute... hey, you're the ninja girl!"

"Yep! I see ya got those braces off, huh?"

I smiled and showed off my now-straight teeth, though my heart was still trying to jump out of my body. She came back, too - that incident was so long ago that it had all started to feel like a dream by now, but it couldn't have been. I pinched myself; it hurt. _So _not a dream! "Wow... man, wicked costume!"

"Thanks! I'm all official now; you gotta earn the cape, and I finally clocked enough training hours."

"Can I join?" I said in a rush. "My aikido instructor says I'm ready to move up to green belt, so..." It wasn't until I was done talking that I realised this must sound really stupid. "I- I mean-"

The woman, however, snickered cheerfully. "Maybe in a few years. The Batman decided not to hire any more Robins from the kiddie pool; child labor laws, right?"

"Yeah," I laughed, totally relieved that she didn't think I was lame for asking. Then I swallowed. "But what are you guys doing here? Am... am I in trouble again?"

"I hope not! Are ya?"

"I hope not!"

We both laughed for a minute, and before I was finished, she said, "No need to freak out; we were just in the neighbourhood, and Batgirl thought we should check in on ya."

"Oh, okay. Th-thanks." I suddenly felt like I was going to cry; _that _was a weird reaction. "Where is she, anyway - and Batman, and Robin? You mentioned Robin!"

"Boy Wonder's keepin' the bossman company on the other side o' town," she said with a grin. "Nobody here but us girls."

"But, um, why didn't Batgirl come over?"

"Ahh, she's been hangin' around Batsy too long." The woman looked over her shoulder, adjusting her footing on the sill. Those red boots were _killer!_ "They get all caught up in the role; don't like to hang around and chit-chat with civilians. Friendly policy, but it's part of the game, I guess."

"Oh."

"But you looked kinda spooked, and I didn't want you losin' yer carrot top!" She reached over and rumpled my hair. If any other adult had tried that, I'd have been offended, but somehow a superhero petting you is okay, I think. "I should get back now, though - crime waits for no one, and we got a tight schedule to keep."

"Wait!" She was already poised to jump, and a thousand questions blew up in my poor brain - there wasn't enough time! Finally, tripping over my own feet, I ran to the window and just barely caught the edge of her cape. "Wh-wha, I- how do- who _are _you?!"

She glanced back at me, then returned her gaze to the Gotham skyline, smiling contentedly. "The luckiest bird in the world."

And I was alone in my cold room again... but maybe a little less lonely.

PATIENT DISCHARGED  
DOSSIER COMPLETE


End file.
